


Courting a Serial Killer

by popitdontdropit



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: (also not to the main cast), (but not the main cast), Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Cannibalism, Chickens, Cock Worship, Codependency, Cuddling, Dark, Declarations Of Love, Description Heavy, Disturbing Themes, Domestic Fluff, Dream Sequences, Dry Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Erotic Dreams, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Gentle Sex, Gibbeting, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Hybristophilia, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kidnapping, Love, Lust, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Murder, Murder Husbands, Mutual Pining, Nipple Play, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Romance, Sadism, Sexual Fantasy, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, Smut, Sniper isn't doing so hot mentally, Spooning, Stalking, Strangers to Lovers, Tags Contain Spoilers, Torture, psychopaths, raw cannibalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 124,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25665079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popitdontdropit/pseuds/popitdontdropit
Summary: As Mick entered the clearing, he understood why the crows were here. What struck him first was not the hundreds of flies or the distinctive stink of blood and decay, it was the metal cages dangling from the sturdy branches of an old paperbark tree. They were filled with corpses.Humancorpses.And one was fresh.
Relationships: Medic/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 230
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my most experimental piece of writing ever!
> 
> All towns/cities mentioned in the fic are completely fictional. However, the story is set in (Western) Australia because I'm most familiar with that kind of setting.
> 
> Also constructive criticism is very welcome and greatly appreciated.  
> Happy reading!  
> 

He couldn’t sleep.

Mick turned over and shifted his blankets. He had tried everything, from focusing on his breath, to meditating, to counting in his head, to changing positions, to fluffing up his pillows… It had all been fruitless. And here he was, staring at the ceiling, hearing nothing but the dreadful silence.

He turned to face the wall and closed his eyes once more. It was then when the light shone from outside, illuminating his room a dim yellow. He heard the distinctive hum of an engine and deduced that it was a passing car. Not many people drove out here. He waited for them to drive past and to get that horrible light away from his room. He couldn’t sleep as it was and the headlights brighter than stars were salt on the wound.

Instead, the heard the clack of the door opening, then a thump as it was closed. Another opened, then closed. A passenger, maybe. They had stopped right in front of his property. Were they lost? Would they come to his door and ask for directions? Who is out driving at this ungodly hour? He anticipated a knock on the door, but it never came.

Mick figured that one of them was taking a piss. It made sense, actually. His home was far from civilisation and the nearest loo wasn’t for half an hour or more. He clicked the button on his phone to check the time.

4:12AM. A strange time to be out in the bush, he couldn’t deny that. Even in this early hour, he could hear the morning coos of the birds starting up as they awoke in their safe little nests. He heard a crow in a nearby tree rasping its distinctive cry. He closed his eyes and listened to the world wake up around him. The magpies were whistling, the wagtails chirping and the cockatoos called as they flew over his home. The wind rustled the trees and the grass. 

Then, like an explosion, the caws of crows rang out. It sounded like a whole flock talking, all at once, on top of each other. He could hear their beating wings. It was akin to hearing a party from far away, except instead of human voices, he heard the ugly rasps of ravens.

It occurred to him that the passing car may have hit a kangaroo and all the crows were flocking to the carrion like moths to flame. That made more sense as the vehicle hadn’t driven off yet. Mick could feel his eyes burning with tiredness. He knew that the sun was rising and as soon as it was up, he’d have no chance getting to sleep.

He promised himself one more try. Then he’d get up and make himself vegemite on toast and coffee. He took a deep breath and shifted his pillow. He counted each inhale, each exhale. He made each deep and drawn out. He tried to relax, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t drift away into his dreams. He stayed locked in his consciousness as if it were a cage.

He peeled back his curtains just enough to get a peek of what was happening outside and the light that broke through made him cringe. It was far too bright outside. He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the brightness. Past the gate, he could see the car in question. It was a nice car, decent in quality. It looked new. It was a rich man’s car, definitely not belonging to someone from around here. There was almost no red dust on the vehicle, which only reaffirmed his theory.

But what was a city rat doing here?

Mick rose out of bed and threw on yesterday’s clothes – a simple flannel and jeans. He stepped out of his room and the stairs creaked under his feet as he walked down to the kitchen. He made a slice of vegemite on toast and an instant cuppa. As per routine, he went out the front to eat. He sat on the porch and took in the frosty, morning air. It burned his nose as it went through. The frost on the grass was beginning to melt as the sun rose. It was nippy out, but it only worked to sharpen his senses even through the tiredness.

As he chowed down his breakfast, he heard the distinctive crunch of leaf litter and bark. From the gumtrees, a tall bloke dressed in a long coat stepped out. He was clutching his chest, shivering in the cold. He couldn’t help but notice the scarf and black gloves. It wasn’t even that cold, but the way he was dressed made the bush seem like the arctic.

Naturally, Mick called out to the stranger. ‘’Takin’ a piss on my bush? That’s awful kind’a ya.’’ He joked.

Upon hearing him, the man froze in place, taken aback for just a moment before he smiled and met his eyes before walking to the fence and leaning over it to get into earshot.

What stuck out to him the most was not his perfectly aligned, bleached teeth or the strong jaw, but his eyes. One eye was white and cloudy: a dead eye. A long scar ran down the side of his face from his eyelid. He assumed that was the cause of the discolouration. The other was a vibrant and brilliant blue, akin to beryl. The man was angular with high cheekbones. He wore rounded glasses. His lips were thin and lacking a cupid’s bow. Contradicting these intimidating features were eyelashes that Mick could only describe as akin to a camel’s; long and fluttery. Even through the gloves, he could tell that the man had long, gangly hands. His smile showed not only pearly whites but also the crow’s feet by his eyes. He was definitely a city man. Country folk were almost never clean shaven or dressed so formally.

‘’Ja. I hope your bush doesn’t mind extra nitrogen.’’ To add onto the list of strange features, the guy had an accent and a high voice.

There was a pause, filled by awkward eye contact. Mick looked to the car and found a topic to discuss that didn’t involve pissing on bushes. ‘’You’re not from ‘round here, are ya? Your car is cleanah than a bar’a soap.’’

‘’I live in the city, all the way back in Mount Hythe…‘’ He paused and looked to the expanse of bush land all around them. ‘’It’s rather quiet here, isn't it?‘’ It was a long drive from the city. A few hours at least.

‘’Perfect for a vacation, or great if you hate people, I suppose.’’ Mick chimed in. ‘’Anyway, what are ya doin’ all the way out in tha middle’a nowhere?’’

‘’I visited a friend. Due to the hours between us we don’t see each other very often and it was nice to catch up. I’m sure you have some friends in the city, so you probably know what it’s like.’’ Mick shuddered a little. He didn’t have friends. People steered clear from him as if he were the plague.

He nodded, regardless. ‘’Yeah, it’s tricky.’’ He couldn’t stop looking at that dead eye. He’d seen blind people with the white eyes before, but not from up close like this. It was like looking into a corpse’s eye from the left side and a living, breathing man from the right. He cleared his throat. ‘’Would ya like ta come in for a cuppa?’’ He couldn’t help but notice that the stranger was alone, foreign and especially vulnerable due to the partial blindness.

He shook his head. ‘’I really must get going, so I can’t linger. Thank you for the offer, however.’’ He strode towards his car, opened the drivers seat and paused. ‘’Sorry about the intrusion.’’ He said enthusiastically, making it sound like it wasn’t an apology at all as he closed the door.

‘’See ya, I guess.’’ He said, disappointed that the guy didn’t want to stick around. Mick sighed and watched the car go.

Though he was deprived of sleep, the coffee had kicked in leaving him invigorated and buzzed. He needed to burn some of it off, so he decided to go on his almost ritualistic bushwalk.

It was nice out. The morning sun was on his back, leaving his clothes pleasantly warm. Dressed in his hat and aviators and striding past the tall gum trees, he felt truly at home. He kicked up red dirt as he walked. Distantly, he could hear the morning calls of the magpies and just by his feet, a willie wagtail chirped and chattered. He watched as it scooped up a beetle in its tiny beak and swallowed it whole. Beside the dirt path, he could see mountainous red ant nests, where streams of ants spewed out of the tiny hole at the top. It made him very thankful that he was wearing proper shoes over his typical thongs. Their bites burned like fire and were itchy as hell the next day.

He opened the gate of his property and closed it behind him. His 'no trespassing' signs were still up. He was proud to say that he had made them himself by painting wooden boards, sheets of metal and derelict stop signs. Just outside was the gravel road that made car rides bumpy and left dirt marks all over the shitbox he called a vehicle. And beyond the road was the bush, it was an open area where homes where spread acres apart and even then, dense layers of bush land separated them. Mick both adored and despised the isolation. It made convincing city folk to come over for tea difficult and driving to the city took hours, so nobody benefited from it. Of course, Mick could see the local townspeople, but most of the folks that lived out here were far from civilisation for a reason.

He took a detour into the bush area. He heard the crunch of leaf litter and discarded bark under his shoes as he traversed the familiar scene. Mick came to this spot often, usually to clear his head and to get some sun. Prickly, tall grass dominated this place. Unfortunately, so did the leeches. In his peripheral, a honky nut fell to the ground. He looked to the tree and was pleased to see a flock of black cockatoos tearing into the gum nuts. They were beautiful creatures, but the sheer size of their beaks frightened him. They could probably take a finger off with those things if they wanted to.

Interestingly, there were shoe sized sinks in the leaves, where the one-eyed stranger had been. He followed them as if he were merely tracking another deer or ‘roo.

He whistled as he plunged in deeper. He normally didn’t go too much further, but today he was feeling adventurous. He needed to burn off more energy. Some new sights wouldn’t hurt either. A fly buzzed towards his cheek and he waved his hand in front of his face to scare it off. It returned within seconds and again, he had to swat it off. No matter how many times he scared the bastard off, it kept coming back.

He frowned when he heard the distinctive caw of a raven. Its friend a few trees away cawed back and to his displeasure, they began to rasp their ugly songs together. He’d never been fond of crows. When he was at school, they used to open his bag and steal his lunch and he’d be left hungry. If he was especially lucky, the cunts would shit on his bag just to rub it in. More calls and songs sprang up the deeper he went. He looked into the trees and realised that he was surrounded by crows. A whole flock of them were hanging around this clearing, encircling it. Their white eyes bore into him, judging his every move, sussing out his intent. He thought that the stranger’s eye looked quite like theirs: white irises with a stark, black pupil.

As he entered the clearing, he understood why the crows were here. What struck him first was not the hundreds of flies or the distinctive stink of blood and decay, it was the metal cages dangling from the sturdy branches of an old paperbark tree. They hung on rusted chains and inside each was a corpse.

 _Human_ corpses.

And one was fresh.

Inside the cage was what used to be a woman. Her body was covered in scratches, tears and red patches of skin where the first layer had been torn. Her eyes had been ripped out, leaving empty, unseeing sockets. Her lips had been pulled away and ripped, showing an agape mouth. Her tongue hadn’t been spared. Around her neck was a gag. No wonder he hadn’t heard screaming. Her nude body was red and glistening with drying blood. There were cuts and scars and chunks ripped out of every part of her. This girl had been ripped apart by the carrion connoisseurs all around him. Beaks and talons had done this. If the birds weren’t so scared of Mick, they would still be eating her. She had likely been caged while still alive and had been left as food for the crows.

The other prisoned corpses weren’t fresh, that was for sure. They were each a few weeks apart, with one being nearly skeletal. Maggots infested those that were still fleshy and they glistened in the congealed blood like lights in the dark. All of them had been ripped apart by the ravens. The eyes had been pulled out by clever beaks, the flesh ripped and bodies practically destroyed. 

They had been gibbeted. Humiliated. Punished.

Mick looked to his feet and saw shoeprints that weren’t his own just by the metal prison. He felt his heart race. The man he had been speaking to had caged all of these people. He had essentially murdered them. He’d left them to be food for the crows. That chipper bloke had slaughtered all these people. Each and every one of them.

But he wasn’t afraid of the stranger. He wasn’t even inclined to report him and the nest of death all around him. Mick understood him. He knew all too well what feelings lead to brutality like this. He could see that this was a passionate act as told by his calculated methods. The hatred, anger and bitterness was practically radiating from the graveyard. All these people had wronged him. All of them had set him off. All of them had done things that in his mind, deserved punishment beyond imagining.

And by god, Mick adored his handiwork. Their coffins were bird cages of the large, cup shaped variants with the ornamental shapes and swirls in the metal doors. They all looked pricy and pretty and the one the girl was in had acted to compliment her pretty face and petite features. He ran a finger down the smooth metal of the bars, feeling what she would have felt in her last moments. The killer had thought about this, planned it. It hadn’t been a thoughtless or rash act. He wanted to paint a picture of torture, suffering, punishment and shame. It was an exhibition and it was a pity that nobody else could admire it.

At the centre of the morbid display was an old wooden chair. He traced a splintering armrest with his fingertip and felt the coarse timbers. There were indents in the wood from talons and hooked claws. The killer had sat here and watched the show. He had watched as the crows flew in, attracted by the vulnerable meat so conveniently locked up for them and indulged in the sight of the ravenous birds tearing his victims apart, chunk by chunk. There were scratches on the back of the chair where the crows had sat with him. He hadn’t laid a hand on these people. The birds did all of the work for him and he had spent hours here, enjoying every moment.

It was like theatre for him.

Mick wished he had gotten the bloke’s name. He wanted to talk with the man properly. He wanted to hear why he had done this and he wanted to know how he ticked. He wanted to understand him and be understood in kind. He wanted to meet this person for who he really was and not for the façade he had put on and the fact crashed over Mick like a tidal wave. He needed to know this individual. He simply had to. This man was just like him. This man understood him. This man would accept him. A crooked smile spread on the Australian’s lips, a sensation he wasn’t accustomed to any more. It felt alien to expose his teeth, to curl his lips upward.

He hadn’t been this happy for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironically, the crow man is named Wren.  
> Minor edit: Mick has chickens now. Also, phonetic dialogue has been cleansed (not Mick's though.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer; hope you enjoy!  
> P.s please point out any errors; I haven't had this proofread and will probably come back tomorrow and realise how many silly mistakes I made.
> 
> Note: Parts all in italics indicates a dream sequence.

Mick spent his evening at the pub. It was a celebration of that lucky chance encounter. He may as well have won lotto and in his mind, that was worth a pint at least.

He liked this humble bar. Though it was small and cramped, it also worked to make the place feel snug and intimate. He sat on a stool in front of the counter, watching the bartender dry a glass with a dishcloth as he listened to the chatter in the back. A quiet melody played from the speakers holstered on the walls. It sounded to be 80’s music, the kind of songs his parents listened to. The dull rumble of singing and guitar riffs faded pleasantly among the voices of the patrons.

He scooped up the daily paper, by now it had a few spills from it from the patrons before him and it stunk of beer, but he didn’t mind. He sipped at the froth of his beer as he skimmed the articles. They regarded what was happening in the footy, the latest political scandals and health tips. Overall, a lousy paper. But then again, in this part of the world, not a lot happened. And he didn’t mind shitty rumours when the locals provided him with more than enough _decent_ gossip.

The bushman often drank alone like this, listening to other people talk. He was fascinated by how alcohol transformed people from polite and well-mannered to outright smack talkers without filters. It’d go from quiet small talk to conspiracies, gossip, shit talking and the final phase was straight up arguments and fights. Then the drunken brawlers would be escorted out of the premises by a pissed off bartender that was sick of their shit.

Mick quite liked the bartender. He was a big strong bloke with a gruff sort of charm. He enjoyed their little chats even if they were short lived. The man knew how to brighten a bad day with a cheery smile and a full glass.

He looked out the window, out into the town. Across the road was a local coffee joint, which was now emptying of patrons, one by one as the day grew older. He watched as opportunistic crows flew down from the trees and scooped up half-eaten sandwiches and muffins from around the tables. The birds were better cleaners than the staff, as the white eyed buggers didn’t leave a single crumb behind. They didn’t waste a single modicum of food. They ate all of it, whether it was on the floor, on the table or on the plate. He saw one stick its beak in a coffee cup. He hadn’t figured the birds to be caffeine addicts.

They were certainly full of surprises.

Mick drank to that thought. Perhaps he owed the creatures some love as they had shown him a wonderful surprise in the form of a like minded individual.

Mick knew for certain that he wanted to meet again with that man. But he had very little to achieve that end. He didn’t even have a name and he hadn’t thought to grab the licence plate on the car. What made matters worse was that it was more than likely that the bloke had lied about visiting a friend and thus he had one less potential lead. That also brought questions up about what else he’d lied about.

 _Mount Hythe._ He’d said. But it could have been a porkie. A man like him could lie through his teeth with ease. Mick supposed it was his only lead. And besides, a tall bloke with a dead eye and strange voice was hard to miss. If he asked around enough, he’d get some sort of idea of where to go. Coming to think of it, the bartender might have seen him around. Word always got to him eventually, particularly regarding outsiders. Gossipy locals could never help themselves when a new face came into town.

Mick gathered the confidence to ask. ‘’Hey, mate…’’ He started, eyes darting to the stubble covered face of the bartender. ‘’I’m uh, lookin’ for someone.’’ The bulky man gave him an inquisitive look and raised a thick eyebrow, he was listening. ‘’Uhm, tall guy with a long scar down his face like this.’’ He traced down the left side of his face. ‘’And one of his eyes were white.’’ He pointed to his left eye. ''Oh, and he had an accent. German, I reckon…’’ The inquisitive gaze transformed into a sceptical one. ‘’Did ya see anyone like that?’’

He didn’t take too kindly to the response. ‘’You sure you ‘avent ‘ad more than one tonight?’’ He definitely hadn’t seen him. Mick figured that the city bloke hadn’t made any pit stops along the way. He’d been straight in and out.

‘’I’m sure.’’ He replied, a little disappointed that he couldn’t scrounge up another lead. ‘’Ta...’’ He muttered under his breath.

Afterward, he left a tip, said his goodbyes and departed. It was getting late and he desperately needed some sleep in order to make it to the city at a reasonable hour.

*******

_‘’There’s one.’’ The gravelly voice of his father murmured._

_Mick was quick to reply. ‘’Where?’’ He said, voice unbroken and soft. His father was a lot taller than he was and so he had to look up to the man as if he were a tree. They were out in the bush, sun on their backs and the rustle of trees in their ears. Distantly, he could hear the caw of the crows._

_‘’There.’’ He pointed to a nearby clearing, where a stream of water passed through. A deer drank idly, head bowed. Magnificent antlers rose high from its head. Mick was careful not to bounce up and down in excitement. The thud of the ground would scare it off. He huddled closer to his dad, making the shuffle of his feet on the grass as light as possible. ‘’Roight, I’ll show ya how ta shoot it. Next time we go out you’ll do it for yourself, yeah?’’_

_‘’Yeah.’’_

_Slowly, the taller Australian drew his bow and like second nature, prepared an arrow. He whistled softly, catching the deer’s attention for the briefest of moments before firing the arrow with a resounding hum from the string. The arrow plunged right into the animal’s forehead. Without a sound, it toppled onto its side, falling limp as blood pooled. Dad dusted off his hands and rose to his feet. He whistled a tune and bent down beside the creature. ‘’Beautiful thing, she is. Young, lean… brilliant.’’ He said, patting the deer’s head. ‘’Touch the fur, Mick. It’s lovely.’’ He was beckoned over. Mick ducked down beside his father and reluctantly placed a hand on the creature’s head. He was careful to avoid the blood. ‘’Now, remember ta treat her with respect. She died for us, yeah? We’re not gonna waste a single part of her. Wastin’ her life would be jus’ tha same as spittin’ on her grave.’’_

_As Mick stroked its soft fur, it was soft but firm and it began to feel increasingly familiar. It didn’t feel like fur any more. And he couldn’t remember what—_

_Hair. It was hair._

_He blinked and it was no longer a deer, but a girl. An arrow had plunged into her skull and her vibrant blue eyes had turned dead and misty, unseeing through the fog of death. Her lips were parted, a final gasp had escaped at the end and then she’d frozen up. She was a pretty thing. Young. ‘’Don’t worry, luv. I won’t waste a single part’a ya.’’ He said quietly as he ran a hand through her hair._

*******

Mick’s morning was routinely. He stretched out when he woke up, dressed himself with whatever was closest to his bed with the addition of his aviators. He made himself vegemite on toast and coffee. He opened the door of the chook pen to let the girls out for a scratch. They never went far and he liked to think all the chicken shit might make the near sterile dirt a little more fertile and perhaps, convince the stubborn earth to support life. The clucking of chickens just about doubled in volume when he topped up their feeder with pellets. As they were busy, he nicked their eggs from inside the pen - they were still warm in his hands. The rooster had grown, he noticed. Perhaps he'd gotten a bit fatter or he had merely puffed out his chest to impress the ladies around him. The sight made Mick think of a big, burly, nasty bogan.

He was growing ever impatient with each chore he had to do. He wanted to hop straight in the car and to just drive there. He dumped the eggs in the fridge, looked to the pile of dirty cups by the sink and the grotty dust on his shelves and shrugged. Inanimate objects could wait; he could not. He didn’t care that the washing needed doing and the place needed a vacuum and he had to take the bins out. He just wanted to go. Mick fetched his keys and wallet. He headed out the door and hopped into his car. He shoved his phone into the jack and blasted his preferred flavour of Aussie hip hop.

Once out of the gate, the gravel crunched under the wheels, making the car shake and vibrate. He was used to it. The road was entirely empty, even as he passed by the town. He was thankful when the coarse gravel became relatively smooth road. Slowly, the number of cars on the road increased as he got closer to the city. The red earth filled with grass trees and eucalypts became a sterile highway with a few sad shrubs between the lanes. He passed over a lake on a bridge and felt a sense that he didn’t belong there, with the busy, perfect people. He ignored the feeling. He had a task in mind.

Mick was not at all used to this many people driving around and it was beginning to take his toll. He was growing impatient, anxious and jumpy. Drivers honked a lot more in the city. Angry tradees ran up your arse more in the city. People were shitty in the city. The stress manifested in the form of a severe case of road rage and he decided to pull over in a carpark to unwind for just a moment. He sighed in relief. Driving with so many other individuals drove him crazy. He hated how busy it all was.

It turned out that he had parked in front of a grocery store, as told by the big red sign out the front. He needed to go shopping and what better place to ask around than a place everyone needed to go for necessities?

Mick waltzed into the building, whistling a tune to appear more relaxed than he really was. He bought what he needed – which turned out to be a lot – and paid at the counter. A young bloke smiled at him, showing his braced white teeth. Mick cleared his throat, catching his eye as he scanned a loaf of bread. ‘’Hey, I’m uh, lookin’ for someone who lives ‘round here… Have ya seen a tall bloke with a scar down his face like this?’’ At first he gave him a puzzled look, but as soon as he mentioned a scar, his eyes lit up.

‘’The guy with the freaky white eye?’’ Mick nodded. ‘’Oh, yeah. I’ve seen him. He isn’t in trouble, is he?’’

‘’Nah. Did ya happen ta get his name?’’ He asked hopefully.

The bloke chewed his lip, thinking. ‘’Uh… He has a weird name. It’s on the tip of my tongue… it’s the name of a bird, but I always forget which one… Ah, never mind. Well, if it helps, he works up at the clinic. One of the doctors, I think.’’

That was a definite lead. ‘’Thanks, mate. Helps a lot.’’ He said a little too excitedly. 

He nearly forgot his groceries but was kindly reminded of them by the cashier before he was out the door. He was thankful that his vehicle was caked in a thick layer of red dust like a second coat of paint, because it stuck out like a sore thumb among the spotless vehicles among it. He stuffed his groceries into the boot of his car. And got a map up on his phone.

The clinic was only a short walk down the block. He thought to pop in.

Seeing the closely packed retail stores and cafes were a foreign sight for Mick. The taller buildings seemed to loom over the horizon, like long arms reaching to grab at the very air. He wasn’t used to all the noise. It was near deafening. He could hear cars pass him by and distant honking. He could hear the chatter and laughter of patrons when he brushed past the restaurants. Once or twice he saw couples and families with small, fluffy dogs - a contrast to the sheep dogs he was used to. He found the clinic and a bell on the door chimed as it opened.

It was a sterile place. It was dull to his eyes, with basic uncomfortable chairs to wait in and no personality in the room to speak of. He approached the reception desk and a young shila with flowing blonde hair smiled in that fake, serviceperson sort of way. She wore a name badge and Mick thought that it must be incredibly humiliating to be labelled like livestock. ‘’Hi, how can I help you today?’’ She said, her voice artificially bubbly. Perhaps they were paid more for being enthusiastic.

Mick had thought this through on the way here but it didn’t stop him from bumbling through his words. ‘’Uh, g’day. I would like ta have a check-up today.’’

‘’What was your name, sorry?’’ She asked, blue eyes darting upward from the computer screen to meet his.

‘’Mick Mundy.’’ He said, matter of factly. He felt like a fool, they couldn’t read his mind to find his name. Nor did he wear a crappy plastic badge to give it away.

‘’Okay… Please grab a number and take a seat.’’ Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall. ‘’It shouldn’t be long.’’ 

‘’Aight, cheers luv.’’ He said, trying not to let the inappropriate excitement come into his voice or features. He grabbed a number and hopped into a seat beside an older woman with what looked to be her grandson. He offered her a friendly nod of acknowledgement and his heart sank when he received the evil eye from her. She scooted away from him. Mick was used to this. He was a lanky, rugged looking bloke with a crooked smile. It was only natural that she moved away. Even so, he couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that perhaps they could feel that something wasn’t quite right. Perhaps she could smell the evil on his skin as if it were dirt.

The silence was filled by the dull mumble of the television on the wall, the sighs of impatient men and women, the taps of shoes against the carpet and the occasional buzz of phones. He jumped in fright when the delicately balanced quiet was interrupted by the creak of the door. A hobbling old skeleton of a patient came out, leaning over his walking stick as he shuffled along on fluffy slippers. While the zombie of a pensioner struggled with the pay terminal, he heard the thump of boots from down the hall – only building to his anticipation. They stopped just by the reception desk. Mick looked up, curious.

It was _him_. Unmistakably so.

Today the one eyed bloke was dressed for work instead of a non-existent storm. He wore a creaseless button up shirt and dress pants. A red tie dangled from his throat, which he straightened as he entered the waiting room. The German’s hair had been combed and hadn’t been ruffled by the breeze like the last time.

He didn’t notice Mick in the waiting room. Even though the Australian was staring directly at him, he didn’t pay any mind to it. Perhaps the doctor was ignoring him on purpose.

Then Mick realised he was on the doctor’s left; in his blind spot.

‘’Next patient, please.’’ He said, gesturing towards the hall. The old shilah rose up with a grunt and walked through, holding the hand of the little boy. The door squealed shut behind them. Mick tapped his foot against the floor in impatience. He was the next in line and appointments were fifteen minutes at the very most. But as he heard the laughter and warm chatter from down the hall, time seemed to draw on for longer and longer. He wasn’t sure why. Normally Mick could drift off into thought and lose all track of time as if it were second nature. But here, he couldn’t be inattentive. He was listening to all of it, catching fragments of conversation through the walls, eagerly listening for the other man’s voice. He heard the end of some sort of joke from the doctor and he heard the grumpy old bag’s laughter roar out like an explosion. He didn’t even think a hag like her _could_ laugh.

Mick realised that he was envious. He wished he could talk like that, brighten conversations like that, have talks without the awkward silences or pauses, he wished he could make people laugh like the other man did. He was talking to complete strangers, and yet, had found a way to make them into his friends with a few choice words.

He sighed, part in relief and in anticipation when that door opened once more. The boy skipped to the counter, holding the lollipop stick in his mouth. His grandma shuffled over and paid. He then heard the familiar click of shoes against the wooden floor. Mick’s heart felt like it was going to burst with excitement.

‘’Next patient, please!’’ The man cooed, the peppiness remaining in his voice.

‘’Aight…’’ He muttered under his breath. At the sound of his voice, the doctor turned to face him with his good eye and he saw a whole whirlwind of emotions. It was first disbelief which flashed across his face like lightning. Then it was fear and some sort of panic before it faded into professional indifference. He could see the cogs spinning, trying to work out his intent, trying to understand why he was here. However, the visible worry was short lived. The doctor pushed up his glasses and regained his composure, pretending that he didn’t know the Australian at all.

He followed the German into his office, which was organised and tidy, with the exception of a few stray papers and bits of stationery. It was decorated with a few personal items, anatomical models of various parts of the body and medicine related charts and posters that were a common theme in each doctor’s office. Even though the doctor had attempted to personalise the place, it was still as dry and dull as the rest of the building. Mick wondered how he tolerated this place. In the doctor's shoes, he’d go mad in here.

As the door closed behind them, he felt that joyous and casual energy leave the room, it was replaced with an air of tension and stiffness. Mick knew he was a vacuum of joy. People seemed to lose their smiles around him, they lost that relaxed posture. Both men and women often tensed as he went past. Strangers gave him the hairy eyeball. Nobody was ever happy around him. It seemed that was the case too, albeit for different reasons. He sucked the happiness out of everyone and everything. He was a leech that was never filled, no matter how much he took from others.

The doctor took his seat. He folded one leg over the other and he appeared oddly relaxed, considering the situation. Perhaps all the stress and questions regarding Mick’s intentions were locked up inside his mind and not to be displayed publicly.

Mick was aware that his very presence implied that he knew the other man’s dark secret. But Mick also knew that he was safe here. No matter how much this man wanted to put him six foot under, it was impossible to get away with in a place as public as this. This was a safe haven for the bushman.

He pushed up his glasses – again, making Mick wonder if it was a nervous tic - and met his eyes. ‘’If the receptionist didn’t tell you, my name is Wren Humbolt.’’ He outstretched a hand and Mick took it. He had a firm grip. ‘’What are you here for today?’’ His voice remained flat and didn’t waver with nervousness or fear. He wondered if the doctor had even recognised him, considering the strictly professional tone. However, the panic he’d seen betrayed that notion.

‘’Oh, uh, jus’ a checkup. It’s been a while, ya know?’’ Mick itched at his collar, unsure of when to address the elephant in the room.

‘’That’s very responsible of you.’’ Wren said. ‘’I'll just do a check of your vitals today.’’ Wren used various instruments to check his heart, breathing and practically everything. It was all stunningly normal and Mick wondered what was going through the other man’s head. Was he plotting how to kill him? The glint in his eyes suggested that. Maybe he was pondering an escape or a convenient excuse to end the appointment. It appeared to be the latter. ‘’Was there anything else you want me to check?’’

‘’Nah.’’ He said quickly and mentally punched himself. That had been the perfect opportunity and he’d blown it.

Luckily, a second chance came. ‘’You seem to be healthy so that concludes our—‘’

Mick blurted his words. He had spoken them hastily and all in one breath. ‘’Wait. One more thing.’’ Mick cried out, cutting him off. ‘’Ya know why I’m here, don’t ya?’’

Wren sighed and draped an arm over his chair. ‘’I do not.’’ He said plainly. Mick knew that to be a lie.

He thought it was best to beat around the bush. Being blunt would do nothing but make Wren uncomfortable, which wasn’t what he intended for this meet up. ‘’Y’know… I discovered somethin’ very interestin’ when I went bushwalkin’ the othah day… ’’ He dropped his voice low for the sake of the other man’s desire for secrecy. ‘’Ya know what I’m on about, don’t ya?’’His heart kicked up, pumping anxious blood around his body. He had been waiting all day for this. He’d been anticipating it. He’d been wondering how he’d respond. Mick wanted to hear the whole story. He wanted to hear everything. How he’d ended up like this. Every man like him had a first. They had stories. He was itching to hear them. He needed to know how that night had played out. He wanted to hear how he’d done it and the thought processes behind it.

Most of all, he wanted to share and indulge in this malfunction they shared.

As the ticks of the clock went by, Mick realised that Wren wasn’t going to say a word, effectively crushing his hopes into dust. The doctor maintained a blank face. He remained still. There were no uncomfortable twitches or movements. He was static. Comfortable. Calm. Collected. He was being accused of vile things and yet, he was perfectly in his element.

Mick’s next strategy was to prod and poke until he broke. He leaned in and his voice dropped even lower, to a mere whisper. ‘’…The crows ya love so much gave ya away, y’know.’’ He said softly. The doctor’s mouth was a flat line as he talked. Now was the time to be blunt. ‘’I saw tha cages. I saw tha mutilated bodies in them.’’ No response. Those mismatched eyes were still locked on his. He didn’t avert his gaze. It was very bizarre for Mick. He had been expecting a full verbal confrontation, but Wren was just listening, knowing full well what he had done. ‘’Tha crows were eatin’ them. They left nothin’ on those bones, lemme tell ya.’’ He whistled out a ‘whew’ sound.

Silence.

Currently, he appeared as a threat and possibly even a liability. This path lead to a dead end. Mick knew that. Part of him insisted that more prodding would crack him, but the other thought of an alternative route. He would share; spill a secret for one in kind. 

He took a deep breath, hoping to fill that dreadful quiet. He added his own thoughts to the matter. How could he expect Wren to share something personal if Mick didn’t do the same? ‘’I’m glad they gave ya away, though. If they weren’t so loud and numerous, I wouldn’t have seen your gorgeous handiwork.’’ He leaned forward in his seat. He put passion in his voice. ‘’I jus’ _adore_ your design. The cages were so damn pretty. And usin’ birds ta do the dirty work for ya? It’s _brilliant_.’’ The older man said nothing, but he shifted in his seat and moved his hands to his lap. His gaze didn’t move, but he caught a slight twitch in his brow. Mick had struck gold. He just needed to dig into that little weakness. It wasn’t a verbal response, but an unconscious one – it was about as good as a ‘go on’. ‘’When I stepped intah that clearin’, I could tell how passionate ya were. I could feel that real powerful anger and hatred and that overwhelmin’ sense of righteousness. Those people deserved punishin’ and ya gave it ta them in the way ya saw fit. And ya knew how ta salt that wound. Ya watched them as they suffered. Ya liked it when they screamed and begged for mercy.’’ The words were flowing out beautifully. He barely had to think about it. He knew he was gushing but Wren deserved the words of praise. ‘’And nevah once did ya think ta spare them, no matter how much they cried and begged. Their lives had ended the moment they wronged ya.’’ He swallowed dryly and sucked in a large breath. He was breathless from talking so fast. It was like opening a steam vent; all of it was rushing out of him into the open air. ‘’Y’know, if I had known what ya were doin’ out there, I would’a come in and watched with ya. Hell, I might’a brought bikkies and tea. I wish I could’a seen it.’’

And though that silence prevailed, that stillness was cracking and breaking into motion. A slight smirk had spread on Wren’s lips and his eyes had brightened. Flattery was getting him exactly where he needed to be. And best of all, the words weren’t empty. He meant every single word.

He reached out and let his hands lock around Wren’s. It was a daring move, but he knew it would get his attention. Only when he was holding the man’s hands did he realise how much he liked them. They were soft and a treat for the eyes; a city boy’s hands.

‘’Look, I aint a threat to ya. The opposite, really. I wanna be your friend.’’ He said, allowing his voice to become soft and gentle, as if calming a wild horse. ‘’Surely ya can see that I aint gonna spill a word’a this ta anyone, not even my own mum is gonna hear ‘bout this.’’

When he got nothing, he felt desperation kick in. It was a last ditch effort before the horse bucked him off and threw him into the ground.

‘’Please, talk ta me. I promise ta keep quiet. I know what it’s like, ta have nobody ta talk ta, nobody who understands ya, to have nobody that’s wired the same way. Mate, I’m jus’ like you. Ya can talk to me. I know the high ya get from a good hunt. I know all about it. Jus’… _please._ ’’ Mick squeezed his hands as he talked. There was a hunger in him now, created by desperation and need. ‘’I know you’re listenin’. Please, jus’… _Talk_.’’ All he wanted was a confirmation. That’s all he needed. Even a nod of acknowledgement would make his day. ‘’ _Please,_ talk ta me _._ ’’ He mustered weakly, voice shaking. ‘’ _Please_.’’ He whispered, pleading with his entire body. His eyes were wide and his heart thumped loudly in his ears. He bit his lip and squeezed those pretty city boy hands. Wren averted his gaze for the first and only time during the session. His eyes darted down to their interlocked hands then back to Mick.

His lips parted and Mick’s heart quickened to such a pace that it felt like he was going to pass out. But instead of confirming what he’d done, Wren tapped the glass of his watch and spoke words that worked only to crush his excitement like a bug. ‘’I’m afraid our fifteen minutes together is over, Mick.’’ It was over. Over in a flash as if he’d woken from a dream. He despised each and every word. A haughty smile spread on those thin lips as Mick reluctantly let go and rose from his seat. ‘’Goodbye.’’

Mick wasn’t ready to go. He’d gotten so close. ‘’ _Please_.’’ He said weakly. He exhaled sharply. ‘’Please!’’ He begged through gritted teeth and slammed his fist against the wall as hard as he could. A sharp bolt of pain rang through his arm but he didn’t care.

‘’Off you go now.’’ Wren said in a sing-song voice, gesturing towards the door. Mick stood his ground. He wasn’t budging. He didn’t driven three fucking hours for nothing. He didn’t do all of this for nothing. He was going to get exactly what he came for.

‘’ _No_.’’ He hissed.

Wren crossed his arms as if he was dealing with a bratty child. It only served to infuriate Mick further. ‘’Mick. I’m asking nicely. Please leave my office.’’ The bushman’s nails dug into the wall as his temper flared, exploding into a white-hot flame.

‘’I’m not goin’ anywhere.’’

‘’Do you need me to escort you out?’’ The doctor said in that polite but stern sort of way, making it clear that there was no choice in the matter.

‘’I aint—‘’ He began, only to be cut off.

‘’—Come with me. I’ll show you out.’’ A hand went to his shoulder, guiding him to the reception desk. He was forced along like a disobedient boy. The shila at the desk gave them a curious glance before returning to her computer. Mick fished his card out of his pocket and deliberately took his time with it. Wren merely watched over his shoulder, not saying a single word as he tapped the card against the device and the payment went through. ‘’There we are. Have a nice day!’’ He said with both a fake grin and fake enthusiasm.

Mick gave Wren one last glance as he left the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl, Mick scares me a little.
> 
> (Also I'm still working out what their relationship dynamic is gonna be like so if you guys have any pointers hit me up)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick keeps trying, he's resilient like that.  
> You may have noticed that I changed the title to be more accurate (and I wasn't too fond of the other one) haha but the real question is who's courting who ;) 
> 
> Note: ~***~ indicates a change of POV. 
> 
> Edit complete! Thanks for being patient :v

Mick was not satisfied with that. Not at all. He was angry inside. A fire was burning from within. That was his only lead and he’d burnt it. Perhaps if he’d been subtler about it and prodded more gently, he wouldn’t have been rejected and ignored like that. He’d poured his heart out, told him everything and he had been bluntly pushed away. He hadn’t even got a verbal confirmation. Wren had danced around each and every question by not saying a single word. No matter what he said, he got nowhere. He was just where he was before, if not worse off.

But part of him respected the way Wren had kept his composure. He was clearly a professional in that area. He’d done this song and dance before. Maybe even several times. He braved Mick’s accusations with a poker face, never faltering even when he really pushed. Mick would just have to push harder.

It didn’t change the fact that he was pissed off.

He paced back and forth in the carpark. He wasn’t ready to surrender and go home just yet. He wasn’t giving up. He wouldn’t forfeit just because he was given the silent treatment. He had gotten so close, if he’d had five more minutes, he would have squeezed and pressed a response out of the man. That ghastly time limit had destroyed his chances.

Time was all he needed.

Mick whipped out his keys and looked to the open road. It’d be bumper-to-bumper traffic around this time of afternoon and the thought of angry drivers and an even slower journey home was enough to put him off.

Heavy traffic combined with a three hour drive would provide him with a burdensome amount of time to think about today. He’d have hours just… _thinking_ about what he could have done, what he should have done, all the mistakes he made, all of the stupid decisions… it’d be miserable.

But he had to leave. He knew that.

Mick looked to the falling sun. The sky had turned a blush pink and orange. Some areas were almost purple. It was a spectacular picture that told him that he had to leave immediately, lest he arrive home in the dead of night. He hopped into his car and shoved the keys in. The engine wheezed and garbled before starting and he was off.

Mick got as far as the freeway before the cars were backed up, bumper to bumper, like an army of ants racing out of their nest. He looked out to the barren bushland on the side of the road, which was covered in metal chunks and remnants of tyres and trash from passing cars. Just next to the road was a crow, ripping flattened flesh from an unfortunate possum that had ended up as roadkill. It was resourceful at the least, Mick supposed. Free meat was free meat at the end of the day. It looked up at him, a hairy piece of meat in its beak. Those white eyes were on his, glaring at him, judging him. Mick looked away, opting to look at the traffic instead. It still hadn’t moved an inch.

Now the thoughts were flowing in, the lack of motion had opened the floodgates. Mick wasn’t sure what to do from here on out. He’d exhausted his plans and his strategies. He’d tried being nice, he’d asked politely, begged, pleaded, surrendered everything. He’d told Wren everything and yet, the man didn’t think to say a word to him. He’d evaded all conversation, escaped every confrontation…

Wren didn’t care for him whatsoever and that fact cut the deepest. He looked at him with such apathy and he sighed out his words. He simply wasn’t interested. The doctor didn’t share the same enthusiasm that he did. Mick couldn’t help but wonder why.

Then it clicked.

The doctor had _no reason_ to talk with him! He was a liability at worst and an admirer at best. He wasn’t important or special. Wren had no reason at all to care about him or to pay him any mind because he was a mere nobody that so happened to enjoy his work. Mick was nothing more than that in the other man’s eyes. He would have to give Wren a reason to care about him.

And that meant getting his attention.

Mick spent the drive plotting and devising ways of doing just that. At first, his ideas were unoriginal and incredibly mundane but the more he pondered, the more creative he got and eventually, he settled on an idea.

What better way than to catch his eye than in the same way Wren had? He’d put on a display, somewhere the doctor would see it. He’d flaunt and show off – but it would only be to the desired individual, not to the public and that meant it would have to be somewhere relatively secluded. But the outback wouldn’t do as then it was _too_ isolated and the German wouldn’t see it. But the city was so busy and therefore too public for what he wanted. Then he had a better idea; Wren’s home was perfectly secluded from the public eye and it was the only place where it was visible to just one man. It was the ideal location and another matter was how he’d get in. Most people left their keys under the welcome mat or under a pot plant. Perhaps Wren would be the same. And he supposed breaking in was always an option…

Now the only problem was that he didn’t know where Wren lived.

He supposed he would deal with that issue tomorrow, when he was well rested with a fresh mind. He knew he was growing weary as the night went on. As he turned into his property and hopped out of the car and opened the gate, he felt a pang of hunger in his stomach. He’d skipped lunch and if he waited longer, he’d skip dinner too. He closed the gate behind him, then rolled up into the driveway. The headlights illuminated an orb web between two trees. The light made the fine strands it look like glittery silk in the night. In the middle was a large spider with a large moth between its mandibles. He parked the car, ripped his keys out and went to the boot. He felt warm at the sight of fresh groceries and the thought of making himself a well-deserved sanga prevailed over everything else. He grabbed the bags, strode up the stairs, kicked off his shoes and was salivating by the time he got inside. He flicked the light switch with the crook of his elbow and the halogen lights flickered to life, casting a warm light over his home.

The floorboards were cold under his feet and so was the countertop. He hadn't even packed the shopping before he started on dinner, he buttered the bread and cooked up the meat in a pan. Mick haphazardly tossed it in the bread, just like mum used to do. He ate whilst packing up the shopping and it was only then when he remembered how quiet it was here. He could only hear the howl of the wind and distant coos of owls. In a way, it was a return to normalcy, but in another way, he longed for the sound of people. He was tired of being alone for once and the quiet wasn’t helping.

He put the radio on to combat the silence. At first, it garbled and whined from the mechanical parts being full of dust but it warmed up and the dull, compressed chatter of two hosts filled the empty air.

And though it was loud and it killed the silence, it did nothing to fulfil his newfound desire for company.

**~***~**

‘’Do you have children of your own, doctor Humbolt?’’ The voice of a mother asked as he drew blood from her son. It was just his luck that the last patient of the day was chatty. Most kept quiet during blood tests for obvious reasons. It seemed that this mother had more of a mouth than a brain.

‘’I do not.’’ Wren said flatly, attempting to convey his disdain for the mere concept of fatherhood. He answered questions like these the same way each and every time. It happened more often than he liked, and so when such questions were asked, he’d say the exact same words in the same manner as if he were reading off a script.

Normally, things stopped there but she prodded further, much to his displeasure. ‘’Why not?’’ Wren resisted the urge to scold her with a passion for prying; he was here to do a blood test, not tell his life story. Instead, opted for a joking smile and a light tone of voice. In his mind’s eye, he imagined grabbing her by the throat and depriving her of the air she sucked in so greedily to speak by closing off the jugular veins and carotid arteries. The mental image brought a welcome sense of calm.

‘’I’m not the fatherly type. I get up to all sorts of mischief, you see.’’ He winked for good measure. He could almost hear the phantom sounds of suffocation and contentment washed over him like a sluggish wave rolling over shore. In the part of his vision that hadn't sunk into the void, he could see the boy's eyes on his - or more specifically, on his dead eye. He could never hate the innocent curiosity that came with his condition. From his experience, not even adults grew out of this curiosity - they merely grew to be sneakier when it came to gawking; often choosing to look at him from his left or when he was otherwise preoccupied. Wren didn't mind the attention. It was only natural. The only thing that bothered him was when people were outright _offended_ by it. He despised the horrified looks, the upturning of noses and the hushed whispers in his direction. 

She giggled at his antics and laughed in that typical dignified middle-aged mother sort of way – in that she stifled the sound but still cackled like a witch. Wren labelled the collected blood appropriately and put it aside for later analysis. ‘’Ooh, what sort of ‘mischief’?’’ She asked, placing a hand on her hip. Her eyes were vibrant, anticipating a response. Thirty seconds had passed. The closing of the airway would deprive the brain of oxygen and by now, she would be unconscious.

He chuckled quietly. ‘’All sorts of trouble, really… it depends on what I feel like.’’ He said enthusiastically, letting the joy come into his voice.

‘’You’re avoiding the question, doctor!’’ She chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand. The statement rang true. Though, Wren had no intention of answering it properly.

He didn’t say a word and unscrewed the lollipop jar on the counter before offering it to the boy. He stuck a tiny hand in and gleefully pulled a cherry red one out.

He patted the kid’s shoulder. When he looked up, he noticed that he and his mother shared the same dirt brown eyes. ‘’You’re very brave. Most cry when I put the needle in.’’ The words were familiar on his tongue. The boy gave a shy nod of acknowledgement and retreated to his mother’s side. He looked to the pair as they said their goodbyes, opened the door and promptly left. More than two minutes had passed and brain death would be rapidly approaching. Within the fourth minute, the patient would be deceased.

The thought brought him relief.

Wren closed the door behind them. He closed his eyes, listening to the tick of the clock. He got to another sixty ticks before the visions of asphyxiation faded away into nothingness, along with his agitation. He let out a drawn out sigh he’d been holding in. Today had been particularly exhaustive, mostly because of his patients. It was flu season and thus, there were more bookings to the clinic than to the average restaurant and he hardly had time for breaks or even a breather to collect his thoughts. At the moment they were scattered far and wide, like stars that were far out of reach.

But the sudden appearance of a familiar man had brightened his otherwise dreary day. He felt a spark of energy just thinking about it. He couldn’t get the image of Mick’s watery eyes and balled fists out of his head. Wren thought of his voice and how it had quivered and shook as he begged for answers. He’d sounded so wonderfully desperate and it scratched an itch he didn’t even know he had. He thought of the way he’d uttered those words of praise with a glimmer in his eyes, blown pupils and his brows raised in awe. He’d seen the way Mick’s lip trembled and curled into a snarl as soon as he realised he had lost. There was a feral animal in that human skin and he’d seen a glimpse of it.

And that glimpse had been akin to staring down a well; it went deep.

It had all sounded genuine. Uncomfortably so. Those words of adoration and longing were raw feelings, unfiltered by common decency. Such a reaction was a once in a blue moon event. 

Mick was a witness to his misdeeds and that made him a loose end. At first, Wren thought that he needed to be silenced, quieted and promptly removed. The bushman was at first a liability to the life he’d made for himself. His first instinct had been to put the man down but after hearing the heartfelt words and desperate pleas, he wasn’t so sure. His uncertainty came from the fact that Mick had sworn to secrecy and that Wren had heard many similar promises in his lifetime and not one person had kept it. Something had been different about this promise. It hadn’t been a desperate plea when the knife was already pressed against his throat, it had been uttered when Wren couldn’t make a move, when he wasn’t a threat but a mere practitioner. It had been genuine and not for the interest of his own survival. Mick could have spilled it all to the world but had chosen not to. Wren would return the kindness. There wasn’t a need to silence a loyal dog if it wouldn’t bark.

The man could be likened to a dog when he thought about it - at least in how one appeared. Mick was undoubtedly _filthy_ and almost a walking contagion, like a feral animal that had never figured out what a bath was for. His cracked, chapped lips were seemingly permanently down-turned in a frown. Not to mention that he spoke like an illiterate peasant and _dressed_ like one. There was dirt under his nails and he had seen red dust which he was sure was dried blood. And the fact he was aware of Wren’s activities only added to the list of unfortunate features.

In short, Wren wanted nothing to do with him.

He heard the distinctive ear piercing cry of his phone ringing and he was suddenly back in reality. He fumbled for it and accepted the call. A salesperson blurted their words a mile a minute. ‘’Would you be interested in a limited time—‘’

Wren hung up. He’d been distracted enough to take a call from an unknown number. It was a sign needed to go home and relax for a while. Maybe he’d finally finish the last few pages of that book he’d neglected since flu season began. The thought of lying in bed with a book in hand was enough to convince him not to work overtime as he usually did.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, they burned with exhaustion. He slung his leather bag over his shoulder and left the premises, thankful that the day was finally done. The bell of the door jingled as the door closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo a plan is being made~
> 
> Wren frightens me deeply. More of his pov is on the way ;)  
> I listened to a lot of electro swing while writing Wren's part... Is that bad? It's kind of his vibe though...  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part of the plan is in action~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays, more in notes...  
> Double chapter length just for you! Thanks for being patient ^^  
> 

Mick was restless. This time it wasn’t because of an intrusive light peeking in through the window, but instead, it was his own thoughts. With a full belly and peaceful evening, his mind had only become more active. This had become a problem in the last few months. He wasn’t sure what it was. Perhaps it was the cold or the fact that age was slowly creeping up. He wasn’t a boy anymore and he’d wilt slowly like a rose. His blossom would join the leaf litter and slowly degrade into nothing more than dust. He’d keel over someday, alone with nothing but himself.

He had no legacy, nothing to his name. He had a home, money that wasn’t even his, red soil and mere memory. He was a simple drongo living off dad’s money with no goals, no life, no job, no friends and no living family to speak of. He wasn’t supposed to be this way and yet, he’d ended up corrupted, twisted and broken. Nobody understood what he was and why he was, to all but his parents, he was incomprehensible. A creepy monster with a crooked smile and a predatory skulk. He was nobody. Had nobody. He was less than nothing. He was a freak. Broken pieces of the average man that had been cruelly stitched together to create a messy abomination of twisted thoughts and strange tics. Mick knew he wasn’t quite right. He’d always known. He probably could have worked it out for himself but the stares and instinctual steps back practically yelled the fact into his ears. He had allowed his malfunctions to fester. He’d allowed them to grow like mould. He was his own demise, his own infectious spore, his own catastrophe. This was on him. He did it to himself. And now, he couldn’t fight the infection. It had taken him over. It had won. He was dead and now only a diseased carcass existed. 

But being a disease was okay. It was all okay. He was alive. Breathing. Thinking. Fine. Dandy.

He let out a long, shuddering breath. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked up to the wooden ceiling. The grain of the wood appeared nearly alien in the dim light. Some of the dark blots looked like pictures or were mere abstract swirls of darkness. He closed his eyes and pulled the blankets up over him to hide himself from the nasty nip of the cold. He slumped into his pillow and breathed deeply. He forced a sense of calm over himself. He took in another deep breath and justified the desire to sleep with the idea that tomorrow was an important step in what he had in mind.

Before he knew it, he drifted off into an unsteady unconsciousness.

*******

_‘’What’s wrong with your suppah, Mick?’’ The accusatory voice of his father said, piercing his ears as the peaceful clink and clank of cutlery on china was interrupted. He could see a fat finger pointing right between his eyes, accusing him of a crime. In this moment, his dad was the judge, jury and prosecution. Mick didn’t have any defence but himself. He knew if he said anything, the man would explode into an angry fit and hurl all sorts of nasty words. Then he’d come into his room late at night and apologise for it all as he always did._

_He looked down to his plate. He’d eaten everything but the crumbed meat and the brussel sprouts (which dad had overcooked to hell and back.) He then looked back to the steely gaze of his dad. He rarely saw the man so pissed off. He only got like this when he drank. He only got like this when he thought about mum. He only got like this when he knew that Mick knew something he wasn’t supposed to know._

_It’s pork. He had said. Mick now knew better than that._

_He'd watched his father do it from the crack in the door of the shed. Inside, there had been a man from down the road just lying on the bench with his eyes open but never blinking. He was a bloke that Mick had seen walking around town, at the pub, at the café, even in the grocery store a few times. And then, he’d seen that man in dad’s shed with his belly open and his organs being plucked out by his strong hands. At first, the surprise had overwhelmed him and he could hardly believe the sight in front of him. But after, he had felt very sick as the weight of the revelation that he had been eating dad’s cooking all his life. Then came the questions. How many times had he eaten people? How many times had his dad eaten people? How was this okay? Why wasn’t he told about this? Why was dad doing this? Did he like it? Did it taste better than normal meat? And then, the bitter saliva flooded his mouth, screaming at him for his sins, telling him that he was going to be sick. And he was. Many times._

_‘’Nothing’s wrong, dad.’’ He said. ‘’I’m jus’ not all that hungry.’’ That wasn’t a lie. He’d forced himself to eat. He didn’t have any sort of hunger, despite chucking up both his breakfast and lunch. His appetite had gone into the void, just like that man._

_‘’C’mon, boy. You’re always fuckin’ hungry. All I hear all day is ‘when’s dinnah gonna be ready, dad’?’’ He imitated Mick’s unbroken voice and rolled his eyes. ‘’And suddenly ya aint hungry? Unless ya went out and got yourself some bush taka I doubt ya fixed yourself a feed before this.’’_

_‘’I nicked some mulberries on tha way home from school.’’ He lied through his teeth, hoping that he could wriggle out of this conversation before his father knew that Mick had learned of what tonight’s meat was._

_‘’Tsk, tsk. That’s a bit cheeky of ya. I s’pose now you’ve learned your lesson, huh? If ya snack out before suppah, ya don’t eat it.’’ He said, waving the conversation off with his hand. ''Ya bettah eat it tomorrow fah brekky. We don't waste in this house, do we?'' That was his mantra. His zen in a way. His dad was a stubborn mule when it came to throwing anything out._

_''No... we don't.'' He sighed out._

_After a short cooldown period where the volatile flames cooled to a warm temperature, conversation became friendly, typical and calm. He got the ‘how was school?’ and ‘got a girlfriend yet?’ and the ‘ya didn’t get into trouble, did ya?’_

_It was like magic. All of a sudden it was routinely again. There was not a slither of conflict in the air anymore. It was all normal. Happy._

_A coldness washed over Mick as his dad finished the final bite of his ‘pork’._

*******

With toast in hand, he let his mind wander. Before long, he found himself to be planning ahead. He knew he needed to find Wren's home address one way or another. And to Mick, that would likely entail following him home. However, the issue with that was he had a distinct appearance and his car even more so. He considered hiring a vehicle but even then, that wasn't foolproof. There were an endless amount of options but with each one he thought through, there were too many flaws, too many things that could go wrong, too much room for error. In short, they were stupid ideas. He rested his head in his hands as if to squeeze his brain into action. 

Surprisingly, it worked. He dredged up a very simple and painfully obvious idea that he should have thought of minutes ago. 

He could just look it up. If he dug around enough, an address would be easily uncovered. 

*******

After getting that stubborn old computer from the early 2000's working again, he found the seemingly elusive string of words and numbers that told him exactly where he had to go - albeit from a less than reputable site. Being the anxious, uncertain man he was, he needed to check, or it would simply claw at him. Not to mention that knowing his canvas inside and out would help to inspire him and to get the creative cogs turning. 

Mick left home around noon but arrived hours later. 

The steering wheel vibrated under his fingers as music buzzed from the car speakers. As if a spell came over him, he found himself to be singing along – something he never did. Though his voice was untrained and ugly, it relieved the stress from city traffic and like magic, dispelled the anger that he once held for the driver tailgating him. He pulled up in a park about a block away and hopped out of the car. He didn't want to draw attention to himself with the bright glare of headlights or the whirr of the engine of his car. He didn't mind. Walks always soothed his mind and opened his eyes to the living, breathing world around him. He could see the golden light between the wavering leaves in the wind, feel the coming night chill on his skin and the consequent gooseflesh that prickled the hair on his neck and arms. He could hear the clack of his shoes on the concrete as he walked and the distant sounds of gleeful kids and idle chatter as he entered the suburbia. It was promising.

The evening sun was warm on his back as he turned a corner. He felt as if he were plunging deeper and deeper into the suburbs as the houses became more and more concentrated and the number of parks grew. He was no longer surrounded by delis and cafes and busy retail stores, but instead, by swing sets, picket fences and decent houses. The road was quiet enough that he could hear the faint clanks of pots and pans from a home or the laughter of young kids. He caught the occasional whiff of an especially potent dinner as he continued down the street. He was aware that he was losing light by the minute, as the sky was rapidly darkening, and the coming chill only grew colder. 

His eyes darted to the faint numbers on mailboxes and limestone fences. He needed just a few minutes more of light to search for a home he couldn’t even recognise, like a blind man looking for a specific strand of hay within a haystack. With luck and persistence he could do it. Now he was walking blind, examining numbers alone as he went.

Mick noticed that ahead was a dead end, meaning that he was definitely in the right place. It was merely a matter of finding the right house. As he came toward the end of the street, he could hear music. Even from this distance, it was loud and overbearing. It sounded modern, perhaps something people around his age liked. Then again, Mick wouldn’t know. He stood in front of the especially bombastic party and took a peek inside. There were far too many people for one room, it seemed. The partygoers were packed together like sardines, yelling and dancing in a manner more akin to a stroke than an intentional move.

He scoffed and moved on only for his eye to catch on a familiar vehicle in the driveway of the next house over and only confirming his suspicion was that the address was right. ‘’Found ya.’’ Mick muttered under his breath, suddenly overjoyed. Mick looked to the empty street and took a risk. He jumped the white picket fence and ducked by the vehicle to check inside. He was overjoyed when he saw that long curtains covered the windows. Opportunity had presented itself. He heard a coo and he turned towards the noise, startled. He noticed an especially fat dove nibbling at a bird feeder. As he looked out to the dried, withered lawn and the thriving purplish weeds, he thought that it wouldn’t kill him to have a bit of greenery.

He looked at the front door as one would look to the pearly gates of heaven. He had to find the key and then he could do whatever he wanted. Wren would almost definitely have the key on his person, but most people kept a spare outside the home in case they locked themselves out. First of all, he checked under the welcome mat - sliding it aside slowly to reduce the noise - and no key resided with the sun starved concrete. He then checked under a pot plant by the door but he only upturned a colony of woodlice. He bit his lip, thinking. Wren wasn’t stupid by any means and so if he had a spare key, it’d be somewhere a little bit cheeky, somewhere you wouldn’t think to look…

Mick’s eyes darted around the bare garden beds and the crumpled, dry lawn. He tapped his foot against the concrete as thoughts ran through his head. He upturned rocks and large sticks, faintly hoping to see it just lying there, shining in the sun like a jewel. He walked across the lawn and carefully checked the lawn for landmarks. He kicked up dirt and instead, kicked a sprinkler which rattled upon impact.

He kicked it again and it rattled once more. Either a component was loose or that was his golden ticket inside. Mick ducked down and unscrewed the cap of the device. He noticed that all of the components had been removed and instead, had been replaced by a lone, stainless key. He pocketed it and put the cap of the sprinkler back. He internally praised himself for finding the elusive thing and returned to the car. 

Now, Mick merely needed a subject.

He backed away and smiled to himself, pleased with his efforts. It felt like a waste to go home now but there was little else to do.

**~***~**

Arriving home was not as relaxing as he thought it would be.

The little picket fence gate opened with a squeal and he stepped onto the front lawn. What caught his attention first was the long trail of cars leading down the street from the neighbour’s house, then it was the abysmal music that blared incessantly from inside. It was some sort of awful dance music, the type of music that would be played in clubs. He could hear the yells and squeals of intoxicated party goers. They sounded more akin to children than mature adults. It wasn’t even Friday night and yet, they had thrown a party. It was as if the universe wanted to ruin his day.

A tiny chirp made him reconsider that. He looked over to the little bird cage and feeder he’d set up on the tree by the fence. He noticed a mourning dove inside, nibbling on the seeds he’d left there. It was a gorgeous bird, with shiny, healthy plumage, big brown eyes and a lovely coo that resonated powerfully from its tiny throat.

With a warmed heart, he went inside. On the way through, he flicked the light switch and retreated into the comfortable haven that was his room. He placed his bag on his desk and fetched his book. He felt anticipation ignite as he flicked to where he had laid his bookmark to rest all those weeks ago.

He hopped into his desk chair and started where he had left off. It was in times like these when he longed for quiet. Perhaps he was merely getting old, but every part of his day was just… noise. A few hours with a book was supposed to be a break from all the needy patients, the chatty co-workers, the painful small talk at the water cooler. It would just be the sound of pages turning, the occasional bird and his thoughts, clear as glass in his mind. He could forget reality for a while and just focus on fuelling his imagination; not that it needed much fuel.

Wren’s mind tended to drift into irresistibly vile places when he was alone. The barrier that walled off his dark desires dissolved as soon as other people were out of the picture. And so, he found himself tapping the armrest, quietly fantasising. The words on the page blurred and he could see nothing else but a mere fantasy. At first, his mind conjured daydreams of strapping young men. He thought of undressing such gorgeous men in the same manner one would pluck the petals from a rose; with attentiveness and the utmost care. A dream from the night before came to mind. He had envisioned a harem of boys painted with blood – a delectable mix of his, theirs and each other’s - begging for him and ever so submissive when he complied. His administrations were not been gentle in the slightest and the needy, virginal moans lingered in his memory more than anything else. He had done them all as if he were a young man again and awoke with little more than a memory that had never been real in the first place and a harsh reminder of his solidarity in the monstrous form of unbridled lust. 

And even now, solidarity was biting into him, shaking his desire awake and enticing vivid fantasies. 

A scream followed by roaring laughter forced him back into reality. It was then when the image of the lonely house in the middle of the bush came to mind. He thought of the peeling paint, the splintering wooden pillars, the ratty porch, the rusted fencing and the expanse of bushland that surrounded it like a sea, isolating the place as if it were an island. It seemed like a paradise in this hell of noise.

Wren forced himself to focus on the words on the page. It was a struggle at first, but he eventually worked up into reading with his full attention. He realised how much he’d missed this book, how badly he’d wanted to finish it...

*******

Several hours passed without him even noticing. It seemed like just moments ago he had at least a hundred pages to go through, but he hit the end before he knew it. It had been a satisfying conclusion and now the only matter was what he’d read next. The hardcover sides clapped together as he closed the book for good.

Wren sighed. Finishing a book meant that he would have to go hunting for a new one and suffer the inevitable boredom in the meantime.

It seemed that the party next door was concluding, too. Which only added to the growing list of things to smile about. Every now and again he’d hear loud goodbyes as drunken idiots went home which were followed by the sound of uneven footfalls passing by the house. As time went on, this occurred less and less frequently and there were fewer and fewer voices coming from the neighbour’s home. He hoped within minutes that god-awful music would be switched off and the night would be quiet.

As if to state the contrary, he heard chatter from outside his house followed by a loud crash from the front yard. He slammed the desk with a closed fist as his temper came to life, destroying the calm he had before. The last thread of his patience had snapped like an overtightened violin string. He strode through the house and heard the thump of his boots against the tiles. They were heavier than usual, weighed down by anger. He opened the door hastily and stepped outside to see a group of drunks on his lawn, one of which was on the ground with a crushed bird cage underneath him. The once ornate cage was now a twisted hunk of metal and nothing more. Seeds had spilled all over the ground. Thankfully, no dove was in sight. The rest encircled the fallen man. The lot of them were laughing their heads off.

Wren wasn’t laughing.

He stepped forward, catching the attention of even the most intoxicated of them. He let out a huff and pointed to the collapsed idiot by his feet. ‘’What happened here?’’ He said firmly, his accent coming out thick and concentrated. At first they blinked confusedly at him, none of them daring to say anything like a bunch of schoolboys that had been caught roughhousing. He didn’t care for this behaviour whatsoever. ‘’Don’t be immature. Own up, bitte.’’ He said, choosing to remain cordial for the moment. Anger would only result in a fight – one that Wren couldn’t win.

A particularly brave woman stood up for the clumsy fool that had destroyed the cage. ‘’Calm down, mate!’’ She said, her words sloshing in her mouth. Her voice was also thick with an accent. One similar to Mick’s, he realised. Australian, without a doubt. ‘’It’s jus’ a little cage!’’ She said, following it up with an intoxicated, inappropriate giggle that appeared as an attempt to mock him.

He ignored her and looked to the rest of them for answers. He sucked in a breath and changed his tone. The last thing he wanted was a brawl. It was too ineffective and too imprecise for any sort of satisfaction. ‘’Please, explain yourselves. I don’t think it’s much to ask. And if I’m not mistaken, you have destroyed my property so I think you owe me some sort of—‘’

‘’—He tripped.’’ Their voice shook as they said it, indicating a lie. If it were light out, he probably would have seen their pupils dilate.

‘’I doubt that.’’ He hissed, looking to the pathetic mess of a man by his feet. Wren lifted him up by the collar, forcing the inebriated man to meet his eyes. ‘’What really happened, hm?’’ He asked, grabbing a stubbly chin with his other hand. He gripped it with force, unable to contain the fury radiating from his body like fiery heat.

At first, he responded with an incoherent groan, then he found his words. They were just as inarticulate as a grunt. ‘’It’s just a stupid fuckin’ bird thing, it aint worth gettin’ your knickers in a twist ovah it ya bloody pooftah.’’ Not only had this derelict, drunken fool destroyed something of his, but now he had insulted him.

Wren at first considered throwing the man to the ground but he refused himself that pleasure for the sake of appearances. He gently lowered the man to the ground again. He wished that instead of grass, he would have landed on hard, unforgiving stone or a metal pike that would have severed his organs like a spear. He heard murmurs among the drunken crowd. ‘’I’m not playing games here. I want a reasonable explanation, that's all.’’ He said, losing his patience with this group of fools.

‘’We were fuckin’ around, aight?’’ One mustered. ‘’He shoved him and then everyone was shovin’ each other around and somehow he ended up like that.’’ They pointed to the pathetic excuse for a man on the lawn.

‘’Was that _so_ hard?’’ He cooed patronisingly.

Nobody responded and instead, the partygoers started their clumsy trot back into the house next door that had almost certainly been trashed by now.

When he realised that he was alone with the drunk at his feet, his heart fluttered in anticipation. Three options presented themselves in his mind. The first was to let this man go freely, without rightful punishment like a criminal forgoing a sentence. The second was to deliver his sentence without any form of hesitation. And the third was compromise; a negotiation of what that sentence should be.

Wren wasn’t an unreasonable man, so he settled on the third. He helped the man up onto his feet, looked him in the eyes and made a promise. ‘’If you apologise for this, I’ll forget it ever happened.’’

He could see the cogs spinning, trying to decide whether to put the drunken confidence aside in favour of reason or to retaliate with a string of insults. Wren hoped it would be the latter. He merely needed an excuse and he could shed his humanity like a second skin, embrace his desire to slaughter the fool like the animal he was and accept the role of executioner with open arms. Wren could smile genuinely and wring his neck, poison him with mercury and watch him go mad, sever an artery and let the tiles run red with his blood or make him drink the alcohol he apparently loved so much until it poisoned and killed him. Wren eagerly awaited his response and an idle foot tapped the concrete as he waited. He quite liked this feeling. Nothing got his heart racing in the same way this did. To him, the rapid thump of his heart and the first rush of adrenaline was akin to seeing the first dark cloud on the horizon; it promised a violent storm. 

The borderline unconscious man started to rise to his feet, clumsily dusted himself off and met his eyes. ‘’I’m sorry ‘bout your bird cage.’’ Brief, but effective, he supposed. He watched the man leave and he let out a soft sigh, disappointed. He'd been hoping for a bit of excitement tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey  
> It's been a while, hasn't it? I think this is the longest I've gone without an update so sorry about that. 
> 
> A whole bunch of things happened and thus my writing was terribly delayed. First of all my computer died and had to be fixed - which had my word document on it so I had to wait for a while. But then school smacked me across the face and I had to study hard for tests and I was bogged down by homework. In my favourite class (biology) we're doing biochemistry but I'm not wired for chemistry so I studied my ass off every night just for an okay result. I also had to study for History so yikes. 
> 
> Anyways, getting back into writing is like coming home after a hard day ~~week~~ at work. It's incredibly therapeutic. If school calms down a little, I'll be writing heaps again.
> 
> And I'm sorry for punching you in the gut at the start of this chapter  
> Mick is a practical man when it comes to stalking... Thank god for the lack of privacy in the modern age, huh? xD  
> Side note; Wren is a fucking pervert and you can't change my mind


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say a picture paints a thousand words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! School has cooled down this week and so I've been writing heaps in the arvo  
> that's my excuse for why this part is about 5000 words long  
> And as always, constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. 
> 
> p.s your lovely comments and kudos really make my day brighter. I love talking with you guys :v 
> 
> enjoy!  
> Edit: this chapter was edited slightly to be consistent with the previous one :)

Mick arrived home well after dark.

He stepped out of the car and was taken aback by how quiet it was compared to the bumper to bumper traffic in the city. Out here, the air didn’t carry any sound on its shoulders but the soft whistle of the wind and the faint rattle of the gate in the breeze as it fought its hinges. As Mick unlocked the house with his jingling key, the wind delivered another sound. It wasn’t something he typically heard out here.

They were voices. Distinct voices. Perhaps two or three. They sounded young, but were definitely adults. Perhaps they were from up in town? There was a group of twenty or so year olds that behaved more like adolescents than grown adults. He often saw the lot of drongos lingering outside of the pub or the grocery store, lighting a ciggie as a collective group and talking shit about others. He wondered what they were doing here or more accurately, what reason they had to trespass on his property. It was irrelevant because he’d made what happened to trespassers very clear. So clear in fact, that it was just about as transparent as glass. He’d put up signs and warnings and yet, this lot had disregarded them. It was good enough reason to pursue this lucky encounter.

‘’She said just to the big dead tree and back, right?’’ A girl said not so quietly. It seemed they were doing a dare. Perhaps this lot had never grown up past their teenage years. Mick thought that the rumours around his property would have dissuaded them, but apparently, it had only encouraged them.

‘’Yep.’’ Another replied. The crunches of leaves trailed further away. Mick could imagine their destination in his mind’s eye. Their voices were growing triumphant and cocky.

Mick felt the smile growing into a dirty grin. He hadn’t mentioned the bear traps in those signs. Though he had put them out to trap foxes so they couldn't eat his chooks, the jaws would function just as well on a person. He of course knew exactly where they were and judging by the location of their voices, they were bound to step on one. He dashed into his home, giddy with excitement. His shoes thumped against the floorboards as he ran into the bedroom. He was well aware of the urban legends that surrounded his property. He’d sit in the pub and listen to the patrons chatting away, spreading gossip and not even knowing that the man in question was on the next stool over, listening with a hidden, prideful smirk. It brought him a bit of glee to be talked about with such intrigue.

He fetched his hunting knife from the bedside table. It was as shiny and beautiful as ever. The engraving on it shone in the dim moonlight making the initials on it clear. It had been a parting gift from his late father. According to dad, it was a lucky knife as he’d gotten through many scrapes and rough situations with it. Mick didn’t go anywhere without it. He put the sheath over the blade and pocketed it. He scooped up his bow and quiver and quietly exited his home. He was light on his feet, as to muffle the sound of his footsteps on the leaf litter. He readied an arrow and crept closer to the three silhouettes near the skeletal tree. He watched as the figure with long hair stepped right over the metal trap. It clamped shut with a crunch and a bloodcurdling scream rung out, piercing the very air with volume. He could feel his heart racing now, the hunt had begun. He was a predator, skulking in the dark, watching his prey struggle and following the blood in the air. He aimed for the bloke – now desperately trying to help the shila out of the metal bite of the bear trap – and fired. The arrow plunged right into his shoulder and he shrieked like a wounded animal, clutching the injury. He could see the silhouette’s head turning in all directions, looking for the source of the arrow.

He fired another, and this time, it struck true. It landed right between the eyes, piercing flesh, bone and brain alike. 

The third saw him in the dark and bolted like the frightened animal he was. This was the most exciting part for Mick; the chase. Pursuits always provided a high that nothing else could give him. It was a thrill to go all out and to run as a lion would after a gazelle. He sucked in a breath and grabbed his knife before taking off in a sprint after his prey. The prickly grass nipped at the exposed flesh just above his ankles and he had to duck under a tree, holding a hand in front of his face to stop a branch from smacking him in the face. He looked ahead and could see that he was gaining on the running buck. He was panicking and thus was clumsy when it came to climbing the fence. It provided Mick with the opportunity to gain ground. Mick leapt over the fence in a swift, practised motion and could almost reach out and grab him.

The bushman could hear the panicked, rushed breaths of his prey. The other man was panting and wheezing as he ran. He turned to look at Mick with wide, fearful eyes and in a last ditch burst of energy sprinted faster. Mick knew that his prey couldn’t maintain his pace for long and soon, he would catch him. They were out on the old railway tracks now – they had been out of commission for decades. He could feel the rotted wood planks bending under his feet and hear the _thunk_ of rusted rails as he ran. The buck was too concentrated on escape and didn’t notice the thick ghost gum branch in front of him. He tripped, tumbling over the branch and rolling over a rail with a thud. Mick laughed breathily and placed the heel of his shoe on the ensnared buck before his prey could recover.

‘’Gotcha.’’ He breathed, the grin still on his face. The creature could only grunt into the dirt. The high from the chase wasn’t quite gone yet and his heart was beating rapidly in his chest and thumping in his ears like the beat of a drum. 

Mick examined his knife in the moonlight and admired the glint that shimmered on the blade like a beacon of light. He was about to plunge it into the man’s back when he realised that he needed this one alive. He was the perfect participant for his display – mainly because he wasn’t bleeding to death with a bear trap around his leg, nor did he have an arrow in his skull. Mick leaned over and took the bulky branch into his hands. The bark was coarse against his skin. It felt remarkably solid and so he stepped back and swung down, ensuring the bulk of the branch hit the back of the buck’s head, knocking him out cold.

He grabbed his now unconscious prey by the collar and began to drag him through the leaf litter back to where his friends were. The bushman heaved him over the fence before climbing over and picking up where he’d left off. Soon enough, he returned to the old, dead gumtree and the trapped doe came into view.

He watched as shock became horror for the trapped deer. He was surprised that she hadn’t bled out yet. He strolled forward, still dragging his ensnared catch whilst whistling a tune to alert his prey of his presence. She couldn’t do anything about it. She couldn’t run. All she could do was watch him coming. As he got closer, he recognised the quality of the rest of his catch. She was lean, but not bony. There would be plenty of meat on her. And she wasn’t old, either, so it would be wonderfully tender. Her friend was almost to the same quality. A very good hunt, all things considered.

He could see the blood from her leg shimmering black in the moonlight. She shrieked louder when she saw him. Crying out for help. ‘’Darlin’…’’ He said gently. ‘’Nobody can hear you out here.’’ She writhed and squirmed, the jaws of the trap only cut in deeper to her leg as she did so. He resisted the urge to snicker at her pathetic attempts to escape. ‘’Don’t worry, luv... I’m not gonna waste a single part’o ya.’’ He patted the shila on the shoulder before returning to his priority; the unconscious buck.

After dragging him home, he shackled the man to a leg of the table using a zip tie. He would be out cold for a while. In the light of the house, Mick could see that he was a bony, tall man with an angular face and cracked, square glasses. He looked young and lacked distinctive signs of ageing. There was a spray of freckles on his cheeks and his thin lips were bloodied. He was far too gangly for Mick’s tastes, it simply wouldn’t be worth cutting him up for a measly slither of meat. The other two were just right in terms of weight and ideal for butchering. There was nothing the bushman hated more than waste; be it wasted potential or wasted food, he despised it all the same. And this one was definitely a waste of food.

But he was certainly not a waste of potential.

Mick patted the bloke’s head in the manner one would pet a beloved dog. He then went back outside and dragged the other man inside – he was more difficult to haul, Mick noticed. By the time he went back to the doe, she had fallen unconscious from blood loss. Her skin was rather corpselike under the moonlight; pale and lacking colour. Soon, she would be dead. He placed her on the counter with the other one.

Seeing as their belongings wouldn't be needed anymore, the Australian took what he wanted from them. He nicked the shila’s necklace and the bloke’s ring. He then set on preparing the meat. He bled them, gutted them and finally, cut out the edible parts and put whatever couldn’t be used into a dish for the crows. The meticulous process took hours and before he knew it, the sun was rising, even through the clouds. When he was done, his fridge was chockablock full. He’d be eating well for days.  
  
Now that the sun was up, Mick knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’d worked himself into a frenzy and he supposed there was no choice but to fuel it further until he crashed. He made his coffee and sipped at it as he strolled around the house, seeking inspiration. At first, he browsed the kitchen knives. They were far too dull for what he intended. The sight of meat scissors in the sink made him pause. Again, it was boring. Any old bloke could cut someone up with a pair of scissors. This had to be special. This had to be unique. He examined a roll of wire and tossed it back in the drawer. He looked out the window to a stray brick. Bashing a guy’s head in with a blunt object just wasn’t his style. He scooped up a pillow but the idea of smothering was far too kind and far too much of a bore. It was over too quickly for his liking. He practically turned his house upside down searching for the perfect weapon and even still, he found nothing.

Mick downed the last of his coffee. He sank onto the couch, feeling his heart sink with him. He looked to the fireplace and the ashes inside that appeared like ghostly sand behind the protective barrier. In the moment, he longed for the heat of a fire to warm his bones and to ease his busy mind. His subject would likely wake in a few hours and he wanted to have some sort of plan beforehand. The Australian looked to the man in question. He was still, as if he was already dead. But the slight intake of breath gave him away. Mick’s eyes trailed up the wall, examining a painting of wild horses that he had never bothered to take down even after his father’s passing. In a way, it reminded Mick of him. The man had always talked about his horses with a glint in his eyes and a wide smile. In fact, there were many mementos of his dear old dad in the home. He never had the heart to get rid of them, even if the sight of them filled him with a longing to be in his arms again. His eyes darted to the mounted deer antlers on a plaque. He remembered hunting that one. Its magnificent antlers were a testament to the magnificent, powerful beast it had been.

And all at once, inspiration struck him like a smack to the face. Mick rose from his seat and carefully plucked the plaque from its resting place on the wall. The antlers branched out wide, with pointed ends that if filed just a touch, could pierce easily. He drew his bloodied knife and one by one, sharpened the points to be more akin to spikes than branches of bone. He pressed his finger to a now sharpened tip and watched as it stabbed into the flesh. A bead of blood welled up and he deemed his work to be satisfactory.

But his work was far from over. There was still so much to do.

*******

He was crossing over a bridge with perfect view of the river when the unconscious buck awoke. At first he was groggy, confused and silent. Mick watched the man wriggle in his restraints, rapidly realising where he was. He kept quiet, choosing to let the man work it out for himself. Talking would only provoke him. He wanted his buck to be calm for the ride. The restrained man looked out to the sparkling river, then to the approaching city and finally, to him. Mick could feel eyes on him but he refused to acknowledge them. All that mattered was arriving on time and in one piece. The thoughts and feelings of his subject were irrelevant. He would end up as a display regardless of the way he felt about it.

Then, a question came. Mick chose not to hear it and instead paid attention to the young man’s voice, not his words. His voice was soft, feeble, weak. Mick remained silent and another question took its place. He’d heard them all before. The ‘why’s the ‘where’s the ‘let me go’s. He couldn’t stifle the smirk that spread on his lips. He said nothing still and he felt the very air shift as the calm shattered into pieces. He listened at the buck’s voice quivered and grew a single shred of authority. He grew louder, more demanding, more desperate. Mick said nothing still and he watched as the young man writhed in his restraints, trying desperately to unwind the rope Mick had tied into so many knots that only a strong pair of scissors could release him. He was yelling out pleas now, not that Mick paid any attention to them. When he got no response even still, he began to yell and shriek like a child that had been refused seconds at dinner. ‘’PLEASE JUST LET ME GO!’’ The bushman well and truly heard that one. Over his lifetime, he learned that people responded to situations like these in one of two ways; either they begged for leniency and promised not to tell a soul in exchange for freedom or they attempted to fight for their freedom. It seemed that this man was in the former category. Mick liked that category more; those that fought were ultimately more of a pain in the arse.

Mick offered a slither of kindness with a short response. ‘’You’re stayin’ roight here for now, mate.’’

It didn’t satisfy the other man and if anything merely egged on more questions. ‘’Why…’’ His voice was a mere rasp, then he cleared his throat and gained power. ‘’Why didn’t you kill me?’’

‘’You’ll see.’’ He said flatly. He knew if he told the man that he was going to die, he’d try to escape. The vague response almost seemed to satisfy the buck. Perhaps he understood that Mick wasn’t willing to answer any other questions.

Mick began to tap the steering wheel in anticipation as they entered the now familiar suburbs. He nearly drove past the house but recognised it in time to enter the driveway. He looked to the man in the passenger seat and offered a nod as if to say ‘wait here’. He opened the gate, slipped inside and opened the front door with the key he'd nicked beforehand. He kicked the doorstop in front of the fly-wire door and returned to the man who was dreading his swift return as told by the scowl on his face. 

‘’Roight, I’m gonna pick ya up. If ya try ta run you’ll fall flat on your face. And trust me, mate, I’ll be laughin’ at ya.’’ He said whilst lifting the bloke and slinging him over his shoulder. He went through the door and closed it behind him with the crook of his elbow. He flicked on the light in the same manner and placed the disgruntled buck on a nearby carpet. Apparently, he wasn’t stupid as the bloke stayed right in place with a sour look on his face.

When he looked up from the young man, he noticed the stuffed bird toy on the coffee table. It looked to be hand-made with the personal touch that mass-produced items lacked. It was a brown, round bird with button eyes. It had a little tail. Its chest was grey whilst the wings were a cinnamon brown. He then noticed that one of the eyes were missing. It appeared to be intentional rather than a sign of damage as the creator had bothered to stitch a line down that side. Puzzled, he flipped the toy over. Writing was etched on the bottom and it proved to be no help as it was in German as far as he could tell. Regardless, he had his doubts that Wren made it. He didn’t appear to be the sewing type.

At least, not the type to sew with fabrics.

He put the bird back into place and moved on. It was a modern house, at least comparatively to Mick’s fossil of a time long ago. What struck him was how _clean_ it all was. Either Wren was a neat freak or he so happened to walk in after a spring clean. Either way, there wasn’t a misplaced item, dirty article of clothing or even a speck of dust in sight. Everything was in its proper place and the floorboards didn’t creak, nor did the doors squeal when used. He looked through a dirt-free window out to the backyard. An outdoor table had been set up, along with several chairs. He noted the crows on the ground, picking at the scraps of seeds that other birds had deshelled before them. Mick entered the kitchen and browsed for the ideal display area. He wanted it to be somewhere that it would be noticed, but not too open that the neighbours could see it too.

Mick walked down the hall, took a turn at the first door he saw and realised that he’d entered the bedroom. It was a wide space with a bed following that trend. It was made - of course - without a single crease. Opposite to the bed was a large painting, it seemed to be a still life painting of a busy household, but upon closer inspection, it was of a doll’s house and the lifelike family were mere dolls. An odd choice, but he could understand why he liked it enough to have it on the wall. It was deceitful and got a little more interesting the more it was inspected. The large window by the bed had the long curtains drawn, covering the outside world completely. The bedside table held a spare pair of glasses, a lamp and a book. It appeared it to be a thriller of some sort – not that Mick read much of anything.

As he eyed the room, Mick thought that this place would be perfect for what he had in mind. Very carefully, he lifted the large painting from the wall and placed it into the corner where it wouldn’t be stained or damaged. Mick ran back to the car and grabbed the plaque off the backseat. He then mounted it on the wall in the place of the painting and dragged his subject into the bedroom.

**~***~**

Wren signed off the prescription without a word between himself and the hobbling old skeleton that was somehow still living after eighty-nine years. He hoped the piling amounts of medication would kill him soon. This man was the embodiment of a grouchy old dog; he was sagging, grey all over and had developed jowls as well as a pudgy belly. He placed the paper slip into a wrinkly, shrivelled hand, offered a smile – he didn’t get one back - and the old mutt left without even a wave goodbye. Apparently he was grouchy _and_ rude.

‘’What a ray of sunshine you are...’’ He grumbled under his breath.

He sipped at his coffee and looked up to the clock. The day was nearly over. If he was lucky, nobody else would come in. If he was unlucky, someone would rush in without an appointment for a last-minute session. Wren so wanted it to be the former. He’d hardly gotten a break and it seemed that he only got a few seconds between appointments to rest. And so he straightened his tie and fixed his wilting collar and awaited the potential arrival.

Thankfully, nobody came and the very moment work was officially over, he departed.

*******

When he pulled up in the driveway he knew immediately that something was amiss. Wren wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt as if something in the very air had changed. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, something was out of place. Something wasn’t quite right. It all looked slightly out of line. And when he placed his key into the front door, he realised why his insides had knotted and his heart had coursed adrenaline through him.

The door was unlocked.

He knew for a fact that he had locked it this morning. It was habit, he would never leave the place unsecure like this. Never. Someone had to have broken in or forced it open. But upon closer inspection, there were no signs of forced entry. No broken glass, no marks on the door, nothing. They must have picked the lock. As he entered the house, he closed the door quietly behind him and listened for the potential burglar. He was almost certain that they wouldn’t be here still. There had been no other vehicles around and no signs of anyone else. Even still, Wren was cautious about it. He heard no sound and one by one, inspected the rooms, ensuring nobody was purloining his things. As he had thought, he was alone. However, it seemed that everything was in place. As far as he was aware, nothing had been taken. Not even the valuables had been thieved. It made him wonder what sort of thief would break in and take absolutely nothing.

That sort of thinking was foolish. Of course they would have taken something, but the only matter was what that item had been. He didn’t really mind. Most valuables were easily replaced – especially on his wage. He wouldn’t report it. The last thing he wanted were the police on his doorstep. He walked down the hallway into his bedroom, undoing his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt as he went along. He stopped dead in his tracks the second he stepped into the room.

The medical professional first saw the severed arteries, broken body and the rope marks on the arms and legs, but the sadist first saw the pained features and the lingering panic in those broken eyes. A hungry part of him wanted to prolong that suffering and even add to it, even though he knew that was impossible as the boy was long dead. If he were able to see his once vibrant eyes, he would have seen remnants of panic and raw fear, however, they had been damaged beyond recognition as ink black flight feathers had been jabbed into each eyeball, piercing the wet spheres like elegant lances. The barbed, fluffy parts of the feathers jutted out from them like arrows, pointing directly at him as if to meet his gaze.

Wren took in the sight of the mutilated body as a sponge takes in water; rapidly and eagerly. The boy had been impaled on the antlers of a deer and purposefully put on display, hung up for all to see like an artwork the painter was particularly proud of. The base of the antlers were at the man’s back and the tips had pierced right through to his stomach. Cut rope had been dumped in the pool of blood, the fibres now stained red. The killer had bothered to dress the young man with flowers. The majority were in his hair. However, a few had fallen from him into the expanding puddle on the ground, staining once white roses a vivid, beautiful red. He couldn’t help but notice the scratches on his arms and his neck, where roses had once been placed and the thorns had dug into sensitive flesh. The antlers themselves appeared to be genuine and would have been a treat to the eyes by themselves, no less with someone so pretty to adorn them. The bone, keratin branches were smooth to the touch and the slickness of blood only complimented the velvety, firm texture.

Wren noticed the pool of blood on the floor that was expanding by the second as it dripped onto the floor. It was oozing out of the deep wounds like saccharine syrup and he couldn’t help but fall into a trance. He watched as an oversized drop would seep out past the tip of an antler and then fall from grace onto the ground, splashing as it went. What distracted himself from that wonderful blood was the fact that the subject himself had been gorgeous. He was young with flattering, soft features. He had dark, almost mahogany eyes and full lips. His clothes had been stained a vivid red. The thick, coppery yet seductive scent of blood was near overwhelming and he wanted to drown in that addictive aroma. It was all he could focus on and he wanted it in every way possible. He wanted to taste that life-giving fluid, touch it and lather himself with it and he would, in time.

The boy had been made into an exhibition just for him and he couldn’t help but feel… loved. Adored, even. This had been a gift for his eyes only. It was a treat for him and nobody else. He had an admirer and that admirer wanted to spoil him. By the brutish methods and allusions to hunting, Wren had a strong inkling that Mick was behind this. He could believe that the Australian would be enough of a fanatic to find out where he worked and no less where he lived. Wren figured that this was a statement from the bushman, perhaps a plea to be noticed and to have a conversation between like-minded men. If so, Wren would answer that plea. He deserved it for going to this length to impress him.

And his efforts certainly hadn’t been in vain. Wren was certainly impressed. It was all quite deliberate, yet there was an air of spontaneity. Something about the rudimentary method of slaughter had been very… passionate. It felt as if Mick had adored this boy in the same way he did. The flowers and horns and the natural beauty associated with those items implied that this was of a thoughtful killing, perhaps even a loving one. He was curious if the bushman had picked out this man specifically or if it had been a matter of convenience. Either way, he was rather pleased with the outcome. The Australian had managed to paint him a spectacular picture of a gruesome, yet affectionate death. It was a statement, an expression of emotion. It certainly wasn’t hateful or rage driven, rather, it seemed to have been inspired by fondness and near _reverence_. Perhaps Mick had intended to praise him and to earn his favour…

Whatever he had intended, Wren’s opinions had shifted entirely. Mick was no longer just a filthy, idiotic, miserable bushman with an uncanny obsession with his activities but rather, an intricate, complex creature that shared a similar understanding of his desires. He had good reason to pursue him. If Wren had known, he likely would have done something similar to catch his eye – albeit through less primitive means. A polite invitation to dinner would have sufficed.

All of this meant that Mick understood how it felt to slaughter and to ravage, he likely knew the high from it like an old friend, one that never left in even the darkest hours. In this case, the delightful feeling was a mutual friend, one they both spent time with often. Though different, he felt they were cut from the same cloth made from sadistic miswirings and malfunctions. Perhaps Mick could understand the man underneath the fake smile he put on and just maybe, _accept_ that man.

His eyes returned to the elaborate display before him and a single, important question arose. 

_How was he to respond to this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about all the words I promise there wil be more dialogue soon.
> 
> A lot of this fic is a big writing exercise for me - I often forget about setting and using visual imagery to establish what characters are doing and how they are doing it. I hope it's evident that I'm trying to fix that problem.
> 
> Also, I wanna take this one slow. I really want to create something worthwhile and to me, that means a lot of building and thus a lot of words.
> 
> Man, I listened to heaps of Steam Powered Giraffe whilst writing. I recommend 'Honeybee', 'Brass Goggles' and/or 'Malfunction' It's soooooooooooo good


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry to tease you like this  
> I'm so sorry that there isn't any dialogue
> 
> But, hear me out, the next chapter is gonna have a tonne of dialogue I promise. I wanted to split it up like this so that one chapter wouldn't be like 10,000 words.  
> The next one will be juicy. I swear :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot is hard :( 
> 
> Also, I edited several chapters (mostly just fixing some stuff that stretched the suspension of disbelief too far. It wasn't anything major) Most notably, Wren's dialogue isn't written phonetically anymore because it brought too many complications regarding how I could write long strings of dialogue. Sorry if its jarring to any returning readers but I hope you understand <3

Wren paced around the room, sorting through his options as he would do with a messy filing cabinet. He knew that he couldn’t leave something so… wonderfully tailored for him to rot in every sense of the word. Mick wanted his attention and now, he had it in his hands. But he had to let the man know in one way or another. He supposed it was appropriate to continue building to this chain they had woven together. A simple phone call or polite letter wouldn’t do. It had to be more personal than that, more _intimate._

Intimacy implied something face-to-face, something warm and close-knit. He considered a night out, perhaps at a bar or nice restaurant, though he believed the former to be more suited to a dirty bushman. The problem with that - which quickly dissolved his wishful thoughts of a warm atmosphere and vibrant establishment - was that two men couldn’t simply discuss the murder of several individuals publicly. It was an impossible wish. And so, Wren found himself to be seeking alternative solutions.

Such a solution came to him shyly, at the back of his mind as if to lightly tap him on the shoulder, reluctant to even bring up the concept of bringing a another man home. That timid suggestion knew better than to bring vulnerable fellows into his arms.

Perhaps it was wrong to think of Mick as susceptible. In the physical sense at least, he had proven himself to be a capable threat. However, he knew that unless provoked, the man wouldn’t attempt to harm him. The bushman held him in far too high regard to even think of damaging his only opportunity for company. Wren knew of the other man’s loneliness. Every aspect of the gangly, desperate Australian displayed such isolation without relent. The echoes of his solitary life showed through the downturn of his lips, the bite marks on them, the way his eyes seemed to dart around when there were people about, as if the sight of others overwhelmed his senses. It was in the way he talked, how it came out garbled and often as a stammer. In short, Wren could feel the need for human interaction radiating from the man like the heat from a star. Wren quite liked lonely men, they tended to bloom bright red like flowers when pampered with honeyed words and praise from those they considered superior to themselves. A bit of recognition would help the other man blossom.

The answer was now clear. Invite him over for dinner. Here. In this house.

It sounded so simple, but it meant so much. There was a beauty in simplicity. The thought of sharing a hot meal with another – whom he actually wanted to dine with for his own pleasure rather than the sake of appearances – filled him with longing and an even greater desire to go through with it. He would allow himself to drink, to get tipsy, to lose part of his self-control in favour of feeling alive than the securing feeling of conspicuousness. This wouldn’t be a plain process, not at all. He would labour over doing this just right. He would make it elaborate, beautiful in order to entice the man. He knew it to be unnecessary as a simple phone call would do, but he wanted far more than that. He wasn’t particularly fond of doing it in such a dull manner. He wanted to enjoy this process, every step of the way. And part of that process was preparation.

He looked to the impaled boy once more, looking him over, thinking about what the most effective means of would be in order to use him as a medium. As well as in a way that would dispose of the body. However, in order to use him, Wren knew he would have to deconstruct the display he had been fawning over for what felt like hours, not to mention the body along with it. He pitied the thought of not being able to look at it anymore.

Contrarily, the thought of dissecting a body filled him with a bubbling glee.

And so, Wren carefully unhooked the corpse from the antlers holding him captive and he carried the boy bridal style through the house. He went downstairs to the room that had originally been designed as a wine cellar. In his time living in this house, he had transformed it into something far more practical. With his ongoing efforts, it had become a makeshift surgical booth with tools of questionable origins and a second-hand operating table that had a few components missing. Regardless, it was still good for its intended purpose. He laid out his soon to be subject on the table and rolled up his sleeves. As he cleaned and readied his tools on a tray beside the table, he was overwhelmed with a sudden, striking memory.

He’d dissected his first victims, studied them, used them as tools for his schooling and admired every little intricate machination within their bodies. And once he was done with them, he had burned the remains. The stench of burning hair – whilst as repulsive as one could imagine – brought out a strong feeling of familiarity.

After those first experiments, he had longed for much more. Dare he say, lusted for it. He hungered for it and simply itched for more. Before long, his thoughts had run wild with fantastical ideas of cutting open live subjects and examining the effects on the body whilst they struggled against his knife, unable to break free and ultimately, giving in. He had attempted it before and one memory of it was incredibly vivid and it made him feel warm all over. He still remembered the boy’s face, how pretty he had been even with a cruel gag forced in his mouth. He felt two involuntary pulses from a starved system that simultaneously screamed at him to stop and to indulge all at once. He knew to stop, despite the brazen betrayal of his body that pleaded with him just to submit to such a temptation. He had to resist. Now wasn’t the time. Such tempting rabbit holes of romanticism had to be avoided for the moment, lest he fall in too deep.

He took a deep, calming breath. He would do this calmly. Respectfully. Affectionately. He couldn’t rush this, nor could he do it absentmindedly. He lifted his scalpel and eyed the entire body, pondering on where to start…

**~***~**

The next few days passed excruciatingly slowly for Mick. He spent them walking aimlessly, watching reruns, listening to the radio, drinking grog and once he’d gone swimming in the river for the hell of it. He’d even applied for a few unskilled jobs in town. He was always busy with something and yet, time went by at a snail’s pace. Behind every thought was a germinating seed of worry. He had begun to wonder if Wren had hated his work. He thought that perhaps the man wouldn’t respond at all. And yet, he wasted time waiting for that reply. He’d cleaned the chook pen, vacuumed his house, picked up the mountain of clothes in his room and had even bothered to shave. As he was returning from the river, fishing rod and bucket – but unfortunately no fish – in hand, he heard a sickening crunch underneath his boot. 

At first, he was worried he had stepped on a small animal or worse, a snake. But as he lifted his shoe, he realised that he’d stepped on a flower. It looked to be a camellia. A white one, with vibrant, orange sticks of pollen. He scooped up the dishevelled plant, examining the damage. The green, starchy flesh had been torn and one of the petals ripped off entirely. He felt a little guilty for destroying something so beautiful. He soon realised that it wasn’t an anomaly. There were blossoms _everywhere_ , all over his porch in an imperfect line that had been ruffled by the breeze. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be an elaborate pathway, a trail of beautified breadcrumbs for following.

It felt like walking down the aisle for a wedding with all the white flowers around. Regardless of the nostalgia it brought out in him and the memories of being just a tiny little boy, running around with the other kids on the beach whilst the adults talked in their white suits and dresses. Like a dingo smelling meat in the air, he followed the extravagant path of flowers. They appeared to be heading for the clearing he’d seen on that fateful day.

As he walked, he could feel his body anticipating it. He wasn’t sure what he was being led to as if he were a dog but he was excited, he knew that much. It felt like his very system was on fire, readying for the potential gift that had been left for him. His eyes darted to the familiar landmarks on the path; the sun-bleached old tire from long ago that had nearly disintegrated from many scorching summers, the oddly shaped stone and of course, the enormous termite nest that was just about to collapse from the side of a tree it was that large. Overhead, he could hear the crows. They were shouting over each other, squawking at the top of their lungs from the clearing. There was something there for certain. They had found it before him and admittedly, jealousy stabbed at his very flesh, telling him to go faster to have a look before the bastards gobbled it up.

He picked up his pace, entering a sprint. His heart was practically running as well by the time he got to the clearing. Though out of breath, the intricate weave in front of him stole it away from him regardless. It was a thing of beauty, something he wanted to admire and so, he frightened the ravens away with his hands as if they were flies.

When he took in the whole picture, his senses were suddenly overwhelmed. The excitement and awe overwhelmed him, and it felt as if he was about to scream with joy. It was a replica of an orb web spider’s web as indicated by the spiralling, perfect shape. The silky strands of the composition was made of the thick sort of fibrous, coarse rope one would use for tug of wars in school sports carnivals. It was a pearly white and silky in appearance. Parts were stained with congealed, drying blood. Thick droplets fell from the saturated, reddened rope like dew from a leaf.

‘’Ya beautiful bastard…’’ He mumbled with a wide smile on his face. His breath was stolen from him as he admired the intricate weave.

On it was a gruesome, yet absolutely breath-taking composition.

It echoed a successful catch on the spider’s part. An array of limbs and organs were strung up on the structure, like moths and crickets stuck to the sticky, silky strands of a spider’s web. The outermost weave carried the outer parts of the body; fingers, legs, arms, bones, fingers and the parts that were all around ugly. The vital organs dangled from the second ring. The heart dangled from its own arteries and hung as if it was in a noose, though in his mind, it was more akin to a hanging jewel. At first, he wondered where the intestines were, but he quickly realised that they had been used like string to tie everything else to the entanglement. Each of the individual organs drooped from the artificial cobweb like glittering baubles from a Christmas tree. He was tempted to pluck them for eating but thought better to dismantle something so intricate. Doing so would upset the one who weaved it.

Looking closer, he saw that everything had been removed with almost surgical precision. The cuts on the limbs were ramrod straight and evidently done with a steady, confident hand. It appeared that this buck had been dissected with skill and respect. The fat had been cut from around the organs, leaving only the important parts. Though richly decorated, the web wasn’t untidy or messy. Everything had been attached in a way that was tidy and organised. He could admire the sheer attention and care that had gone into it. His eyes were naturally drawn to the eye of the spiral.

Right in the centre, the rope had been tied into a small knot to mimic the epicentre of a spider’s web. On it was the decapitated head of his prey he’d left for Wren. The head had been made into a centrepiece and the very core of the configuration in front of him. He was paler than Mick remembered due to the chilling touch of death and the severe loss of blood. He noticed that Wren had removed the feathers from the eyes and instead, had tucked them behind his ears as one would do with flowers, leaving the bloodied, damaged eyes in their place. Though broken, he felt as if he was being stared right through.

Interestingly, Wren had sewn the man’s lips together with black stitching. And he noticed that the last stitch had been deliberately cut and the two, frayed ends curled outward like untied shoelaces. He found it to be odd. Why cut just one? As he flicked the large rope as if it were the oversized string of an instrument, causing the dangling organs to bob up and down in the air, he got his answer.

It was a hint. It was a suggestion. It was designed to draw his eye. Making it look out of place had been a deliberate move to make him notice it. Before he could even think about what he was doing, he had cut the stitching with his hunting knife and part of the deceased’s mouth, spilling congealing, sticky blood. Upon doing so, the lips hung open, and he noticed something white in the mouth, just resting on the tongue as if it were a lozenge. He shoved his hands between the dry lips of the buck and pulled the object out of his mouth.

He was left absolutely speechless. He was stunned, like a deer in headlights. It was an oddly pristine white envelope. He opened it up with care. He didn’t want to destroy whatever was inside.

Within the protective envelope was a small card. On it was the neatest handwriting he’d ever seen. It appeared almost like calligraphy, with not one stroke out of line. He had to squint to read the cursive. His nanna used to write like this, though not to this degree of finesse. He put a hand over his mouth as if to stifle a scream when he understood what this card was, he could feel excitement overwhelming him as his rapidly beating heart pumped joy around his body in floods.

It was an invitation to dinner.

*******

_It became more and more difficult to make excuses for why he wasn’t eating his dinner and more specifically, why he was seemingly neglecting the meat. He’d tried everything from. ‘I’m not hungry’ to ‘I’m going veggo’. To the latter of which, his father had slammed the table and yelled that no son of his would be a vegetarian. And so, he was all out of fodder for the cannon of excuses and porkies._

_He looked down to his plate and surrendered to the harsh gaze of his dad. He gave up. He couldn’t do it anymore. Ever since this had started, he had felt a prickliness between himself and his father. It showed up in the little side glances, judging him. The shorter temper. How he had stopped hugging him after school. The stench of alcohol on his breath. The increasingly impulsive and bizarre rules in the house. It had become so draining to feel like he wasn’t loved anymore._

_Mick chose not to think about what he was doing and he put the flavoursome chunk of sin in his mouth. He forced himself not to acknowledge what it was. He convinced himself it was just another deer. Just another roo. Just… anything else. He could feel dad’s eyes on him, perhaps in approval. Mick only hoped that this decision would fix the mess he’d made._

_He saw his dad smile. Such a sight was rarer than a shooting star. He felt warm. Loved again._

*******

Mick was thankful that the glaring morning sun cut that half dream, half memory abomination into nothing more than a foggy, hazy thought. His face was wet. He at first thought it was sweat but when he wiped his cheeks, he realised that the shininess on his palm was from tears. Mick hadn’t cried for a long time. He felt a little cheated that it had been an involuntary act in his sleep.

He hopped out of bed. His eyes burned with the distinctive, nostalgic sting that came from weeping and his first step was a fumble as his body woke up with him. He walked over to the sink and washed it all away. He immediately felt fresher and so, rinsed his face once more. He watched as the now salty water ran down the drain, never to be seen again.

Mick froze in place when he remembered that today was the day. The card had given him little more than a day’s notice for dinner at Wren’s place. He was thankful that the man had packaged it somewhere secure and in the open. Mick wasn’t sure how he’d live with himself if he missed it. This was exactly what he wanted. This was an opportunity to talk on friendly terms. An opportunity for likeminded men to converse and share deeply contentious thoughts without judgement.

In short, it was an opportunity for friendship.

Mick couldn’t remember the last time he had a friend. Perhaps in high school, but looking back, they weren’t really his friends. They were just people who tolerated him. And even then, they still looked at him as if he were sideways. Perhaps this would be different.

Mick found himself to be browsing his wardrobe for the first time in years. The last time he had put on anything but jeans and a plain shirt was probably way back for his high school prom and before that, the wedding of a distant relative. It wasn’t clear if it was a formal or informal meet up and so, he went with his gut. He picked out a short-sleeved button up shirt and a semi-formal pair of slacks that he almost never wore. He looked a tad uncomfortable – not to mention seeing himself in the mirror in even something remotely dressy was an odd sight – but it was the best he had. He wasn’t quite comfortable in it but making some sort of effort was important. It was a necessary discomfort. Perhaps he could grow to like it.

He checked the time. He had a few hours yet. He wasn’t sure what to do with it. Was he expected to bring something? A carton of beer maybe? What does a person bring to dinner? Do people bring wine? Flowers? He shrugged it off. He had a budget and it seemed silly to bring something cheap to a bloke on a practitioner’s wage.

He did everything he could think of to pass the time. He let his chooks out, fed them and collected their eggs. He did the dishes and washed his clothes. He made breakfast and sat out on the porch, watching the world become warm as the sun gained purchase in the sky. Finally, it was time to go. It had felt like an eternity and Mick had no doubt in his mind that the drive would be even more torturous.

He fished his keys from his pocket and looked to his shitbox of a car with a crushing impatience.

**~***~**

The best part of baking for Wren was the simple fact that the conspicuous scents of death and cleaning alcohol transformed into the inviting scents of flour, sugar and cinnamon. It was a unintentional side effect but always a welcome one. And soon, the very house was filled with those sweet smells. Quite like the aromas of death, those of cooking had a habit of lingering. Such fragrances were welcome to stay awhile, as suspicions and accusations tended to dissolve in the lovely promise of a feast.

The messy work of cooking was now done. He washed the dough from his hands after placing the tray in the oven and discarded his dirtied apron in the wash. Though an ugly item of clothing, it had done its job in keeping his outfit clean. There wasn’t a speck of flour on his vest or dress shirt.

As he was setting the table, he found himself to be anticipating the arrival of his guest. Excitement toyed with his nerves and tugged at his mind, accelerating his thoughts. He knew that Mick would be coming. He had made it impossible to miss his intricate web and the poorly hidden secret within it. It had hardly been a matter of hiding the envelope but rather keeping it secure and in a place where the elements couldn’t destroy the card. And that safe place so happened to be the mouth of a corpse. Wren had taken his time when sewing the lips together. In part for the sake of doing it to a high standard but also for his own enjoyment. When threading the needle, he had imagined the boy struggling, trying to fight him but ultimately, submitting. And in that fleeting daydream, capitulation warranted a reward.

The unchaste image of dissecting the boy had cemented in his memory. It had been some time since he had the opportunity to take something apart as if it were machinery. To break the body down into its individual, yet beautifully complex individual pieces. He wished he could have done it on a live specimen. The struggle would have been a delight. The excitement from playing the game and _winning_ would have been simply _electric._ It was no fun, knowing the game had been rigged in his favour from the start.

He looked to the clock. It wouldn’t be long now. He knew for certain that Mick was coming. The man wouldn’t ignore a signal he was so hoping for. Wren had put the invitation right in his face, shone the light right in his eyes in a sense. The possibility of a no-show was incredibly slim. And Mick would know better than to irritate him. He wouldn’t dare. He knew the consequences of such a grievous error.

Wren had grown to be increasingly curious about the deviant of a bushman ever since he had received his gift. He was fascinated by his intentions, first and foremost. What did he want from speaking with him? Was it a simple desire for company? Or was it something more? Did he lust for his attention as one desires from a parent or a role model? Was it even a platonic desire to interact? It was difficult to know for sure, as Wren was aware that whilst his glasses were not tinted, his perception was. He had thought of that gorgeous display to be almost romantic. Though Mick didn’t strike him as the amorous type. Wren was likely misinterpreting it. After all, the man could be straighter than a ruler.

Contrarily, Mick could be just as… _bent_.

Then Mick’s oddities came into question. He was particularly interested in how he had matured to this stage, blossoming to the point where he was slaughtering innocents to earn the favour of another man. Evidently, the Australian wasn’t shy to the concept of killing. His resourceful methodology had been telling of a man who had done this before, many times. He had perfected his art, perhaps this had been his magnum opus. And if so, Wren was flattered that he could have the honour of receiving that work and then the privilege of deconstructing it to birth another.

He entertained the thought of collaborating for just a moment before the piercing wail of the doorbell interrupted him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you lot are hyped :D
> 
> Also, lowkey this chapter could be summarised as Wren wondering:  
> 1) how to go above and beyond when talking to Mick is completely plausible  
> 2) what to do with this fucking body  
> 3) is mick gay


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've all been waiting for, no more lengthy paragraphs, just a lot of VERY HETEROSEXUAL DIALOGUE 
> 
> :D 
> 
> Also this chapter is 9000 fucking words long and most of it is dialogue.  
> You're welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was worth the wait ^^
> 
> Also, your lovely comments and kudos always make my day, so thank you guys!

Mick felt the impulse to fix up the collar of his shirt and to do up the top button immediately after pushing the button of the doorbell. He had been so calm before stepping out of the safe walls of his car and now, it felt as if his nerves were on fire. He heard a muffled ring from inside the house and he hoped Wren wouldn’t be long. He felt unbearably awkward, just standing outside the door in the cold, waiting to come in. Whilst idle, his eyes darted to the lone tree on the lawn and the little bird cage that dangled from one of the branches by a shiny chain. The thing was spotless and glittered in the falling sun. The fat dove he had seen days before wasn’t there today. Maybe he’d gotten his food and nicked off home to his nest for a nap.

Mick could hear the thump of boots against the floorboards. His heart thumped in time with those footfalls. The door opened and the halogen lights casted a golden spotlight over the once dark paving. Wren stood in the doorway, evidently pleased with his timely arrival. A grin had snuck onto his face, crinkling the crow’s feet by his eyes. He looked a little strange in the dark, in that he was more… _frightening_. He only noticed that the man was taller than him and bigger than him in almost every way. But he forgot about it as soon as he heard his peppy, spirited voice. He sounded as overjoyed as he looked. ‘’Goodness, did you dress up just for me? I didn’t think I would ever see you in anything but dirty rags.’’ He uttered the insult in a manner that was almost sweet. He then seemed to remember that they were both standing out in the cold. ‘’Come in!’’ He cooed excitedly as if welcoming a guest to a party. He held the door open for him as he entered the comforting warmth of the home.

Now that he could see Wren properly in an illuminated room, he felt very underdressed. While Mick was in a scraggy button up shirt and questionably formal pants, the other man had gone the extra mile. He was dressed in high, shined boots, a creaseless dress shirt and tan vest. Mick felt like he’d shown up to a ball in shorts and a singlet.

It felt so different to enter on a welcome basis, almost surreal. He wasn’t trespassing this time around and somehow, the house felt warmer and more inviting. Only magnifying that was the appetizing scents of food. It seemed that the man had been baking, as that nostalgic smell of a busy oven full of sweet goods hit his nose. For what felt like nothing more than a mere moment, he remembered being a boy, walking into the kitchen and seeing his mum there, working hard at a stubborn mix in the bowl. Though, it faded into nothing the moment Wren spoke up. Perhaps he had been talking before and Mick hadn’t heard it. Either way, he was listening now.

‘’As you can probably see, I’ve been very busy. And you’re right on time too, as dinner appears to be ready.’’ He gestured to the busy slow cooker on the bench that appeared to have some sort of stew in it and a tin which he assumed was full of bikkies. It felt so strange to hear the man talking with him in friendly tones. Somehow it felt as if they had become close friends with almost no words between them. At least Wren was behaving like it. He liked the change. The silent treatment wasn’t something he enjoyed. ‘’I even got around to some baking.’’ He said, gesturing to the tin.

‘’I can tell. It smells like a bloody bakery in here.’’ He said, eyes darting around the room. Despite the evidence of cooking, there wasn’t a mess.

‘’Very much so.’’ He commented, rolling up his sleeves. ‘’It’s just as hot as one.’’ He chuckled before shifting to the refrigerator. It was pristine and shiny, unlike Mick’s whirring hunk of junk that could very well break down any moment. ‘’Would you like a drink, Mick?’’ Wren asked, eyes fixed on him. He found it difficult to concentrate on even a simple question with that white eye seeing nothing but looking through him as if he were glass.

He mustered a response. ‘’Ya got beer? I aint picky with what sort. It’s probably a miracle if ya have any and y’know, beggars can’t be choosers or somethin’ like that.’’ Mick was increasingly aware that he was talking too fast. His nerves had burned through his vocal cords too, it seemed.

Wren smirked at his audible nervousness. ‘’A drink might help you relax, hm?’’ On the way to the fridge, the doctor placed a fleeting hand on his shoulder, just to play with him. It hurt to see a refrigerator so organised. It looked as if a shila had cleaned it up. He fished a can out of the bottom of the drinks section. He found it almost instantly, as the tins of cheap liquor stuck out like a sore thumb against the visibly more expensive wines. It made him wonder if the beer had been bought for him. ‘’Take a seat, please.’’ He said cheerfully in a sing-song tone as he handed the chilled can to Mick.

Wren pulled a chair out for him as a polite, courteous gesture. Though his efforts only left Mick feeling awkward, like when waiters refilled his water for him whilst he was having dinner. It was well intended, but ultimately unnecessary. Mick took his seat and waited. He noticed that the painting from the doctor’s room had been moved to the wall just by the table. He wondered if he had kept the antlers in his room as a memento. If that was the case, he’d be honoured. On the table was an ornate vase, with fresh, vibrant flowers standing proudly, their blooms bright and the scent particularly strong. He sat idly in the quiet, which was filled by the clank of plates as they were filled. The lack of conversation was almost unbearable. He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want to beat around the bush anymore. The anticipation was clawing at him, tearing into his very mind, screaming at him just to open the door wide and to let the topics come. And so, he swallowed his nerves, ignored his racing heart and stammering lips and decided to cut the crap. 

However, that sentiment died the moment his plate was put in front of him and Wren started up a different conversation entirely.

‘’Now that we have gotten the formalities out of the way, I must apologise for treating you the way I did.’’ He wasn’t sure what Wren meant, at his confusion, the other man clarified. ‘’When you came to me whilst I was working, I was very uncertain about your intentions. If I had known you were a man of – shall we say – _similar temperament_ , I would have arranged to speak with you earlier.’’ He hadn’t been expecting or anticipating an apology. Mick had never held it against him. Though he was angry in the moment, he understood his reasoning. He couldn’t be mad at the doctor. ‘’In short, I hope a hot meal together can make up for it.’’

‘’Ah, water under the bridge, mate. Don’t even worry ‘bout it. I’m jus’ happy we can finally talk.’’ He said, sounding a touch too excited about it. He noticed that the doctor had a glass of wine in hand. He hadn’t even heard him retrieve the glass, no less pour it. Wren joined him at the table, He sat at the head, opposite to Mick, meaning there would be no avoiding each other. Though the doctor was cheery and smiling, the bushman couldn’t help but wonder if he was nervous too.

‘’Stew’s good. Where’d ya get the recipe? Or did ya make it up yourself?’’ He was well aware that he was compensating for his nerves and awkwardness with compliments.

‘’Ah, it’s my mother’s recipe. She did all the hard work in that department.’’

‘’It’s nice. Tell her that, yeah?’’

‘’And how could I do that?’’

He gave Wren an inquisitive look before he realised his mistake.

‘’She’s _dead_ , Mick!’’ He cackled like a hyena at his mistake. At least Mick hoped it was the fact that he’d fucked up.

‘’Bloody hell, sorry. I didn’t mean ta—‘’ His cheeks were going hot, embarrassed and ashamed.

‘’—It’s quite alright.’’ He said suddenly sombrely, however, that was quickly proven to be an act as the older man placed a hand by his mouth, as if he were telling a secret. ‘’I didn’t like her anyway.’’ He snickered.

Mick found himself to be laughing too. The sound was hoarse and unpractised. The vibration felt unfamiliar on his throat. Mick only realised that he had been smiling when he felt a sharp sting of pain from the cracking flesh of his lip.

Wren went to speak but halted. His eyes darted to his lips and his toothy smile faded into a flat line. ‘’You’re… bleeding.’’ He said suddenly losing that good cheer. The bushman wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sure enough, a splatter of red covered his sun kissed skin. The doctor got up and handed him a tissue. Which Mick took as if he were being offered a lifeline. He pushed the soft fibres against the dry, plump flesh of his lip. ‘’Not used to smiling, are we?’’ A hand went to his pocket and fished out a stick of what looked to be lipstick and offered it to him. ‘’This will help.’’

‘’You’re offerin’ me _makeup_? Do I look like I need a makeover right now, mate?’’ He hadn’t intended to come off so aggressively, but the other man didn’t seem fazed by it whatsoever.

‘’It’s chapstick.’’ Wren groaned in frustration. ‘’It stops… _that_.’’ A shudder had come into his voice. It amazed Mick that a _doctor_ could be so squeamish around the sight of even a slight amount of blood. Reluctantly, he took the stick, twisted the cap until a beige, waxy stick emerged. He clumsily lined his lips with it, more so imitating how he’d seen other people do it (particularly shilas) than out of his own experience. He handed it back and simply despised how it coated his lips in what felt like sticky paint.

‘’Nasty.’’ He commented as its owner took it back. ‘’Do you use that rubbish?’’

‘’Ja. It works.’’ He pointed to his mouth. ‘’Very kissable, don’t you think?’’ The doctor had the gall to wink at him with his blind eye. It appeared that subtlety wasn’t his speciality. However, he managed to vocalise it in such a way that it didn’t tarnish his courtly demeanour and that it came off as charming and pleasant. Mick certainly couldn’t do the same thing. Folks would think of him as more of a pervert and a deviant than they already did.

‘’If ya say so.’’ He sighed, using every fibre of his being to resist the urge to wipe his mouth.

They got back to dinner as if nothing had happened at all. For a moment, they ate together in silence. Mick could only think of dining with his dad. They’d get the little daily questions out of the way and there would be nothing more for the rest of the night apart from mutual ‘goodnight’s when it was bedtime. Except this was different. They would talk all night long, Mick hoped. Perhaps he had only thought of eating with his dad because that was the last time he’d had joined someone for tea. He looked to Wren, who’s angular face appeared softer with the blush of warmth on his cheeks. He wondered if he would have to be the one to begin or if the other man would. He supposed it didn’t matter in the end, if they both got to discuss what they wanted to.

With the mutual good mood and sudden calm in the room, he decided to open this can of worms. ‘’So…’’ He said, feeling the weight of the coming question on his tongue. ‘’I’ve been wonderin’ for a while now…’’ Wren cocked a brow at him, listening intently. It seemed that the doctor wouldn’t inadvertently stop him this time. ‘’Why in his mouth? The card, I mean.’’ It felt almost dreamlike to discuss the death of a bloke so openly, one he caused, and one Wren rearranged.

It sounded so obvious when he said it. ‘’It was a matter of security. I couldn’t leave it exposed to the elements just in case you were out of town for some time. …And I did like the imagery of it. Almost like a mailbox, in a way, don’t you think?’’

‘’A very toothy mailbox.’’ He chuckled.

‘’Ja.’’

There was so much he wanted to say it was simply overwhelming. ‘’I like what you did with the flowers… It was a really nice surprise ta come home ta a bunch’a flowers at my doorstep. And what came aftah was pretty good too, I gotta say.’’

‘’I’m glad you liked it.’’ He said, warmth coming onto his features. ‘’It was a return to form to dissect him, it has been far too long and god, how I missed it. After the first incision, I was in love…’’ He said, trailing off. There was a glint in his eyes that told of wonder and glee. ‘’I was originally going to decorate your lawn with the pieces but I noticed a spider making its home by your car and needless to say, inspiration struck.’’ He snapped his fingers, perhaps to mimic a match sparking and being set aflame, or a light being switched on. ‘’I was worried that the wildlife would get to it before you did but I can assume you saw the entirety of it?’’

‘’I did, yeah. It was… real pretty. Sorta like seein’ a bird’s nest full’a eggs. I don’t know how ya manage ta make a bundle’a guts and limbs look so damn beautiful but ya did it. I… I didn’t want ta dismantle it, y’know. It was… quite somethin’…’’ He was aware that he was rambling but he couldn’t stop. ‘’Ya always make ugly stuff look good and I can nevah believe my eyes.’’

‘’Stop it, you’re too kind.’’ He said, waving off his compliment with his hand. The blush on his face was unmistakable. Mick knew he didn’t actually want it to stop. The doctor could probably listen to compliments for hours on end.

There was a pause and so he moved on. ‘’Do you always write like that? It looked like the queen herself wrote ta me it was that bloody neat.’’ It sounded like an insult, when really, he meant it as a compliment.

‘’For you, yes. I don’t normally do so.’’ The bushman felt flattered by his response, as if he were important to him.

‘’Do ya normally invite people ovah for dinner?’’

Wren smiled in that guilty ‘you got me’ sort of way. ‘’Only if I need to get on the right side of a superior or the like.’’

‘’So… ass kissing?’’

‘’For lack of a better term, yes.’’ He shrugged. ‘’This is the only instance where I’ve wanted to have a guest over.’’ He leant over the table a little, as if to get closer. ‘’Again, I made an exception for you.’’ He crossed his arms, thinking for a moment. ‘’Coming to think of it, I haven’t dissected bodies for anyone before…’’

‘’A lot’a exceptions with me, huh?’’ He couldn’t stop smiling. It felt almost wrong to do so as his very mouth seemed to protest, but it felt so good.

‘’Many.’’ He sighed out in a manner more contemplative than exhausted. ‘’I’ve never had a boy strung up on the antlers of a deer for my eyes only before I met you.’’ He said, visibly delighted by the mere memory. It warmed his heart to see that he had liked it.

‘’What did’ja think? I was hopin’ you’d like it.’’ He said, scratching at an ear that wasn’t itchy in an attempt to hide the fact that he was flustered and that his cheeks were warm.

‘’It was absolutely beautiful!’’ He cried out, suddenly filled with excitement and vigour. He could feel that heat intensifying knowing that his work had been appreciated by admired, and by extension, so had he. ‘’It was a wonderful surprise to come home to. I was in awe of it, to be quite honest with you. I thought that the roses were a very thoughtful touch. It only added to that gorgeous naturalistic beauty of your composition. I assume the antlers were authentic?’’ Mick nodded. ‘’Ah, good. I wouldn’t have it any other way. They were quite the embellishments to a gorgeous subject. He was stunning… Simply _breathtaking_. Did you pick him out for me?’’

He so wanted to lie and tell him that it was entirely intentional. But he knew that Wren would probably see right through a fib as if it were nothing more than glass. ‘’Nah, it was a chance encounter, really. I killed his friends, but he ran away before I could get him, so I ended up knockin’ him out.’’

‘’You killed his friends? You can’t just bring that up and not tell me about it!’’ He cried with faux offense.

‘’But what if I didn’t tell ya? Give ya a taste of ya own medicine?’’ He teased, gauging for a reaction.

‘’Then I would be _very_ upset with you. And besides, you wouldn’t do that to yourself. I can tell that you’re just itching to tell me all about it in all of its gruesome, wonderful detail.’’

‘’Agh, ya caught me.’’ The Australian admitted meekly. ‘’Foine, foine. I’ll tell ya.’’

‘’Of course you will.’’ He added smugly.

‘’I, uh… got back to my house after um, findin’ your address and I heard people on my lawn – by lawn I mean my bushland. It doesn’t happen a lot, as you can kinda imagine. So, I saw opportunity. Y’see, I had these bear traps laid out for the foxes, so they wouldn’t eat my chooks...’’ The moment the words ‘bear trap’ escaped his lips, Wren’s mismatched eyes lit up with excitement, he knew exactly where this was going. ‘’And I got my hunting stuff from my house and went out. There were a group of drongos out on my lawn, doin’ some sort of stupid dare and sure enough, the girl of the group steps on it!’’ His voice gained confidence as he talked more and more, and the other man’s interest fuelled his own.

‘’Ooh, I imagine she screamed like a banshee!’’ He exclaimed excitedly, rubbing his hands together.

‘’More than that, more like ten banshees all in one!’’ He laughed. It was raspy and coarse but the sound of another joined it. ‘’Because she wasn’t goin’ anywhere, I shot her mate right between the eyes with an arrow.’’

‘’You must be quite the marksman, hm?’’ Wren lauded in a manner that sounded almost flirtatious. Few admired his talents and it was admittedly a welcome change. He thought to show the man someday.

‘’Mate… ya don’t know the half of it. I was shootin’ apples off my dad’s head before I learned ta ride a bike.’’ He refocused, even though the German’s enjoyment was incredibly distracting. ‘’Anyway, the last guy of their little group nicked off in a sprint, thinkin’ he could get away from me on my own fuckin’ turf.’’

‘’Am I right to assume this was our victim?’’ The way Wren purred adoringly at any mention of the unfortunate young man, made Mick squirm and sent chills all around his body like cold blood.

‘’Yeah. That was him.’’ He said, nodding. ‘’He was fast but he didn’t know where he was goin’, so he ended up trippin’ ovah a branch and that’s when I got him.’’

‘’It would have been wiser for him to fight you, in my opinion at least.’’ Wren added whilst slicing through a tender piece of meat as if it were butter.

Mick disagreed. ‘’Nah, he would’a had no chance then. I had a knife, he didn’t. He could run pretty bloody fast and he probably could’a made it if he knew where ta go.’’

‘’Well, he’s dead now. ‘if’s and ‘but’s don’t matter. But I must admit, it’s fun to theorise and wonder how things could have happened.’’ He sipped at his wine with the elegance of a prissy middle-aged mother.

‘’Speakin’ of tha dead,’’ He said, thinking of his next words. ‘’That girl in tha cage from a while back… Who was she?’’ He was genuinely curious.

Wren’s expression turned sour at the mere mention of that woman. ‘’Ugh… _Her_.’’ He hissed out, downing his drink as if to drown the memory. ‘’She was a friend of a friend that so happened to… irritate me. There was an incident where she came over for a work function. Which I mistakenly decided to host. She was… very _impolite_ first and foremost.’’ He said, a scowl lingering on his face.

‘’In what way?’’ He felt as if he was listening in on the gossip of a group of teenage girls. However, this was far juicer than the talk of who’s dating who.

Wren stabbed a chunk of potato with his fork as one would do to a heart. ‘’She drank _excessively_ despite the fact it was more so a dinner party to celebrate the end of a stressful period than a party to get drunk and to be indecent. Everyone else understood, of course.’’ He sounded haughty and bitchy when he complained. It was endlessly entertaining.

‘’I mean, one drunk chick isn’t too bad, roight? At least the lot of ‘em didn’t get drunk.’’ He shrugged.

‘’But if everyone else was drinking, I would have an excuse. Unfortunately, I was sober for the event.’’ He sighed, swirling the purplish red wine in his glass. ‘’And the second thing was that under the false pretence of ‘feeling sick’—‘’ He held up inverted commas with his fingers. Mick was practically on the edge of his seat, waiting to hear the rest of it. ‘’--she went to the bathroom, however, the bathroom is linked to my bedroom. She doesn’t come back for a while and as time draws on and she is still yet to return, I grew concerned and went to check on her to make sure she hasn’t passed out or the like...’’

‘’Oh god. Please don’t tell me she found somethin’ a bit cheeky.’’ He had little doubt in his mind that Wren would have some dirty secrets lying around. Mick knew for himself that living alone often lead to slack behaviour when it came to hiding things.

Wren confirmed his theory. ‘’She was investigating my room and so happened to stumble across my _collection._ ’’ Mick assumed he was referring to trinkets and trophies. Men like them liked to collect from their victims as reminders of achievement. It was natural. Instinctual. _Gratifying._

‘’What did ya do?’’ He was eagerly awaiting the end of the story, how it happened.

‘’You know exactly what I did, Mick.’’ He reminded not so delicately.

‘’Wren…’’ Somehow it felt wrong to use his name, like it didn’t deserve to rest on his tongue and be uttered by him. He knew he would get used to it. He would in time. He just had to not overthink it. ‘’I’d like to hear it from you.’’ He said warmly, meeting his gaze.

‘’Top up my glass and we’ll see about it, won’t we?’’ Wren suggested unsubtly, gesturing to his emptied glass. Mick submitted to that request, eager to hear more despite the fact he felt like a housemaid when pouring his drink for him. While on his feet, he nicked another beer. ‘’It was a process to be honest,’’ He began, taking a sip from his wine. ‘’I got lucky. I walked in the moment she found it. I silenced her with a bribe. She gladly took it and kept quiet.’’

‘’Money is such an interestin’ thing ta me. Especially in cases like these. That shila probably figured out that you killed people and she still took the money ovah tellin’ someone.’’

‘’It wasn’t a petty sum.’’ Wren admitted, sounding hurt by the idea of a lighter wallet. ‘’Regardless of her promise to secrecy, I needed to remove her. Those that promise never to tell always do in the end. I don’t tolerate that promise anymore. Not one person has kept it. Except you… For now, anyway.’’

‘’I would never tell, mate.’’

‘’I know you wouldn’t betray my trust after everything you’ve done. You wouldn’t dare, to be frank.’’ Mick shuddered. He stabbed several bits of food and attempted to eat in a dignified way rather than a starving animal as he normally did.

‘’Anyhow,’’ Wren continued. ‘’I rejoined the festivities and with a few choice words, I quickly learned of that vile woman’s drinking habits from my colleagues and in particular how she often went out to a certain bar and returned in the earliest hours of the morning, near unconscious by that point. I of course, saw my opportunity there.’’ He closed his eyes, as if to remember the event. ‘’I went out late one night, to the bar she was well acquainted with and when she came out, I offered her a lift home. She got in the back and I don’t believe that she recognised me at first. Not until we were deep into the bushland. Escape was futile then and perhaps she knew. She didn’t struggle.’’

‘’She must’a been pretty out of it.’’ Mick commented. ‘’I suppose that only helped you in the end, yeah?’’

‘’Immensely.’’ He replied. ‘’She only truly woke up when the crows discovered her.’’

‘’I imagine it is quite the shock ta wake up hungover with birds eatin’ ya alive.’’ He said, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Wren chuckled lowly. ‘’Mhm… You should have seen it.’’

‘’I wish I had.’’ He said. ‘’Did she scream?’’ He didn’t mean to sound as excited as he did.

‘’A lot.’’ Wren said before returning to his neglected dinner. ‘’With the impressive amount of noise she made – even with a gag in her mouth – I’m surprised you didn’t hear her.’’

‘’Must’a been too far away. I was in my room for most of it, I reckon.’’

Wren managed to make the undignified act of eating look elegant. ‘’I have to admit, at the time I wasn’t anticipating your presence. I was quite… frightened when you called out to me. Did you know something was amiss?’’

‘’Not really. Shit happens out in the bush and us country folk let a lot’a things slide. We aint paranoid like you lot in the city…’’ He cocked his head like a bird, a thought rushing into his head. ‘’Did you think I would find out?’’

Wren paused, placing an index to his lip, thinking about his response. ‘’…I thought you would, though certainly not as quickly as you did. I believed that you would notice my work long thereafter, where any recollection of our brief encounter would have faded into obscurity. At the time, I had been hoping nobody would be awake in the early hours of the morning. It was an oversight on my part.’’ The jovial fluctuations in his voice had dissolved and turned cold. They were stoic, flat, calm.

‘’Did you think about killing me when ya saw me?’’

He needed no time to think about that one. ‘’No, I am not a monster. I do not kill without reason. You were not – and are still not – a threat to me.’’ Those mismatched eyes locked with his with intensity he hadn’t felt before. ‘’But now I must wonder, did you consider killing _me_?’’

‘’I probably would’ve if ya had come in for coffee.’’ He admitted shamefully. ‘’I remember thinkin’ that ya were pretty docile and that partial blindness would’a given me a head start.’’

That amused Wren. Strangely, the idea that Mick had considered murdering him didn’t seem to offend him whatsoever. ‘’That’s part of the game for me, Mick. I am _always_ underestimated. And in actuality, it provides me with an advantage.’’ He chuckled lowly. ‘’And part of that is of my own doing of course.’’ He removed his glasses. He appeared almost intimidating without them. Older perhaps. Merciless in that dignified sort of way. Stern. ‘’My vision in my surviving eye is perfect. These spectacles have no prescription on them.’’ He clarified, twirling his glasses in his hand as if to show them off. ‘’Wearing glasses has a psychological effect on others, one that I find particularly convenient.’’

He felt as if he were being trusted with a secret. One he wasn’t supposed to know but he was being entrusted with, like a valuable treasure. He wondered if it was somewhat relieving for the other man to let that secret out. ‘’And what’s that?’’ He said, genuinely curious. ‘’People reckon you’re smart ‘cause you got glass in front’a your eyes?’’ He joked.

‘’That is one part, yes.’’ He cracked a smile. ‘’However, the main benefit is that many perceive it to be a sign of frailty and sometimes, an unlikeliness to commit a crime.’’ Mick couldn’t help but stare at the long, crooked scar down his face. It was in full view now and no longer hidden by a rim or lens. ‘’We both know I can be anything but if I so desire.’’

‘’I bet they nevah see it comin’… when ya put a knoife in their back, I mean.’’ He commented, realising that he liked this look more. It felt more honest, somehow. He could see the signs of age more clearly, not that it was at all a detriment. He quite liked it, actually. The colour in his eyes was more visible without a wall of glass in front of them. He could see the pearly, almost cloudy nature in the dead eye and the vibrance and life in the other, like a blue sky.

‘’They never do.’’ Wren supplemented, drinking to that fact. Mick had so many questions he couldn’t even count them. The room was growing excitable rather than nervous and it felt simply heavenly just to indulge each other with questions and answers without any semblance of judgement. ‘’You should smile more, Mick.’’ He added out of the blue, looking at him warmly with a glow on his cheeks. Perhaps it was the alcohol. ‘’It does wonders for first impressions. People are more likely to trust a friendly face, you know?’’

‘’I feel like people trust me less, then. My smile is ugly and crooked and jus’… _wrong._ ’’ He mustered weakly, biting his lip. He felt the skin crack under the merciless edge of a tooth.

‘’Oh, don’t talk like that. You have a gorgeous smile.’’ He sounded like a mother attempting to console an ugly child. It was that sickly sweet. Part of him wondered if Wren even meant it.

‘’It’s anythin’ but, mate.’’ He grumbled, tasting copper on his tongue. ‘’You’re jus’… butterin’ me up, like ya do ta the rest of ‘em.’’

‘’What do you mean by that?’’

Mick thought it to be obvious. ‘’You’re a sweet talker.’’ He said, unintentionally lathering his words in poison. That poison was narrowly disguised envy. Pure jealousy that was so concentrated that it was toxic. The man was pulling his strings, making him feel good, telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. ‘’Ya don’t really mean it.’’ He said unintentionally hissing the words.

That statement amused Wren, despite the fact it was meant as an insult. A sly, knowing smirk had snuck onto his lips. ‘’It’s part of the game, Mick.’’ He leant over the table, disclosing more. ‘’But do know I’m not playing it with you. I mean every word.’’

‘’How do I know that ya mean _that?_ ’’

‘’You will have to trust me, won’t you?’’ That smirk didn’t leave. ‘’But it should be easy for you, Mick. You don’t seem to have difficulties when it comes to trust. You sought me out knowing what I am capable of and secondly, accepted an invitation to dinner which you have eaten even with aforementioned knowledge. Did you ever consider the possibility that I have poisoned the food?’’

He froze, feeling a cutting, deep chill come over him, pricking up the hair on his neck. ‘’No. I didn’t even think… Did you?’’

He scoffed haughtily at the idea. He was above it. _Far_ above it. ‘’Please, If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already.’’ He huffed. Mick believed him completely. ‘’And what makes you think I would stoop to the low level of poison? Mick, you _know_ I’m not that undignified.’’

Mick had no defence to that. He hadn’t considered the possibility and now he felt stupid for considering it.

‘’Regardless, my point has been proven. You trust me to an unreasonable extent. Not that I mind, of course.’’ The coldness that had dug into his very bones was whisked away with a gush of hot air from the electric heater mounted on the wall.

‘’I don’t exactly have anyone else ta talk ta.’’ He chuckled, making fun of his own isolation from just about everyone else on Earth.

That resulted in silence only filled with the clanks and clinks of cutlery as they both finished off dinner. However, that quiet wasn’t uncomfortable or fruitless. It provided him with the opportunity to think. And in that silent space, he realised something. It didn’t crash over him like a boulder being dropped over his head, rather, it was a slow and gradual acceptance like a bucket being filled with gentle rainfall.

_He'd made a friend._

That revelation refused to fade, even when that quiet shattered like glass at the beginnings of a new topic. ‘’You never told me what you did with the companions of our victim.’’ He said softly, intentionally sowing the seeds of another conversation.

Mick wasn’t sure if he was ready to admit to it. No living person knew of his habits, nor those of his long-passed family. By talking, he’d be breaching his oath to his old man. But when he saw the genuine curiosity in those colourful, vibrant eyes, he spilled it without a moment’s hesitation. ‘’I butchered ‘em.’’ He said flatly. Wren said nothing, anticipating more and unsatisfied with the vague response. ‘’I kept the bits I like and gave the rest to the birds.’’

‘’Do the organs serve as trophies to you, Mick?’’ He said, gathering a different understanding of what he meant.

‘’No. I like them. I like…’’ He choked up, feeling the weight of those words on his tongue. He took in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘’ _I like to eat them_.’’ He said, his voice no more than a weak whisper. His mouth went dry. He was expecting shock and horror, but only got intrigue. Wren was listening closely. Attentively. He was talking faster, panicking, feeling the heat on his face. ‘’I like the taste and the feelings it gives me. I feel sorta… at home, yeah. It makes me feel bettah. I don’t know why or how but I like it. I like it a lot. It’s jus’ somethin’ I like doin’. The process is very satisfying. Sorta like catchin’ a big fish and gettin’ the pleasure of guttin’ it for yourself. Except the guts are nice too.’’

‘’I didn’t take you as one to eat your victims.’’ He said, evidently fascinated by his confession. His intrigue was not at all judgemental. It was raw curiosity, unbridled by common morality. He’d discovered something interesting and intended to dig into it. ‘’Have you… eaten your victims raw before?’’ The idea seemed to thrill the good doctor to no end. His voice shook and he leaned forward, anticipating more.

‘’Yeah. Once or twice. I… I only do that when I’m really pissed with them. To me, eatin’ them while they’re still breathin’ is a big, _big_ middle finger. I don’t like the taste as much when its uncooked. But the feelin’ is really good. It feels like lettin’ go of bein’ human for a bit and jus’… goin’ feral and rippin’ ‘em up with my teeth.’’

‘’A creative way to get your revenge.’’ Wren commented. ‘’Messy too, I imagine.’’

‘’Yeah. It’s a rare thing ‘cause cookin’ is more efficient… But it’s got its own advantages, I guess.’’

Wren nodded, agreeing with him. ‘’Now that you’ve admitted to such an act, I find myself… increasingly captivated by the idea.’’ He said, a sudden, overwhelming enthusiasm in his voice. ‘’The concept of savagely ripping someone apart with tooth and nail in an act of sheer indulgence has _undeniable_ appeal…’’

‘’You’ve never…?’’ It was strange to think in all the other man’s years that he hadn’t tried something so obvious.

‘’I have not.’’ He replied. ‘’It must seem ridiculous to you. Do you eat everyone you kill?’’

‘’Yeah. I don’t like waste, y’see. The bloke I got for you was the only one I didn’t, for obvious reasons. I wouldn’t have anythin’ ta show if I ate him.’’ He said, recollecting the memory of the bony man he’d strung up in this very house. ‘’But I have preferences. I like ‘em lean. Young. That way the meat isn’t tough and there isn’t too much fat.’’ He admitted shyly, scratching at the nape of his neck. ‘’Too skinny is no good either. Not enough meat on those bones.’’

‘’I see. It must be quite like butchering other animals then.’’

Wren was into it for certain. He was positively glowing with excitement at the mere thought. ‘’Maybe instead of wonderin’ what it’d be like ya could come ovah sometime. I have fresh meat in the fridge that ya might like ta try.’’ He felt like a schoolboy asking the girl he was crushing on to prom. ‘’I’d be happy ta cook for ya.’’

‘’Ooh, I might have to take you up on that offer.’’ He said, an eager grin lingering on his face and dripping into his tone. ‘’None of the men I’ve met have offered me that sort of delicacy.’’ He giggled, sounding tipsy. ‘’And trust me when I say that I’ve met a lot of men.’’ His tone was knowing, joking almost proud.

‘’That’s a ‘yes’ then?’’ He asked, sounding stupid.

‘’A very confident yes.’’ Wren downed the last of his drink and rose from his seat to collect their plates. He dumped them in the sink to be dealt with later. Mick noticed that his gait wasn’t nearly as flawless as it had been at the start of the night. Though, he had retained the confident, aristocratic strut. ‘’So what now? Would you like dessert, Mick?’’

‘’Why not.’’ He said, submitting to the idea of something sweet.

The German retrieved the tin from the bench and placed it in front of Mick. ‘’Help yourself.’’ He said whilst opening the container. The powerful, sweet scent of flour and sugar rose from the tin. It had round little bikkies inside.

He took one, mostly to be polite and in part to fulfil his sugar craving. He nibbled at it. It was crumbly but not dry and sweet but not overly so. The biscuit rested on that perfect balance and he could appreciate that. ‘’It’s lovely.’’

‘’Good to hear. Just don’t eat too many. I don’t want you to get a stomach ache.’’ He said affectionately, in a way akin to a parent reminding their child not to eat too much chocolate on Easter.

Mick rose to his feet, feeling almost unsteady as the blood started flowing again. He wasn’t sure how long they had been at the table for. It felt like only a few minutes had passed but the shock from his body told him that it had been a while. Hours, even.

Wren looked down the hall and seemed to remember something. ‘’Oh! Come with me, bitte. I want to show you something.’’ Before he knew it, Wren’s hand was around his wrist, dragging him down the hall. He wasn’t forceful and Mick followed him eagerly, still eating away at the cookie. He was aware that he was dropping a trail of crumbs, but the other man was too giddy to care. They stopped at a staircase. ‘’Watch your step here.’’ Wren said in passing, descending each step gracefully. Mick followed the man eagerly, curious of where he was being led to. The doctor flicked the switch and the lights flickered to life.

Down the stairs was a small, cramped room, unlike the rest of the house. Though, it retained the same mood of overwhelming cleanliness and old-style furniture. What hit him first was the powerful scent of disinfectant and following that, the derelict table in the middle of the room. He inspected it and at first, he had no idea what it was. He at first thought of a dentist’s chair but the tray of surgical tools beside it gave away that it was in fact an operating table.

‘’Where’d you find this hunk’a junk?’’ He asked, cocking a thumb to the table in question.

‘’A hospital was throwing the old models out and so I… took the opportunity.’’

Mick picked up a freshly cleaned scalpel from the dish and turned it over in his hand. It was far too… inorganic for him. Too small. Too flimsy. Too… clinical. To him, a hunting knife was personal. Strong. A scalpel was a plastic knife in comparison. ‘’Did you cut our mate open with this piddly buttah knoife?’’ He said, twirling the tool.

‘’I did,’’ Wren said, placing a hand on the Australian’s shoulder. ‘’And that ‘butter knife’ cuts through skin like it’s paper. Perhaps you shouldn’t spin it around so much, hm?’’

He put it down, then replaced the scalpel with a bone saw. ‘’Now this, this one’s a beaut.’’ He said, running a finger down the serrated edge only lightly. Those metal teeth were sharp but didn’t rip his flesh. ‘’I imagine this gorgeous thing cuts like a bloody _dream_.’’ He breathed in excitement, just imagining thick, strong bone being sliced like bread.

‘’It’s a wonderful tool.’’ Wren purred, a hand shifting to that dangerously jagged edge. ‘’I had to sharpen it after I… performed the dissection.’’ He pressed his thumb against a pointed, metal tooth and it pierced the skin. ‘’See?’’ He said, not even flinching at the pain. He held up his thumb to Mick, displaying the stout droplet of blood proudly as if it were a prize before suckling it off. It felt odd to watch him. He had done it so… smoothly. Like he hadn’t thought about it at all and had done it in a heartbeat. He was showing off, trying to impress and to flaunt. The bushman didn’t mind. If they were in his kitchen, Mick would do the same thing. He’d show the other bloke his knives, the meat he'd cut, the rugs he’d made from deer and roo hide alike, his bow, his collection… He’d show the doctor _everything_.

‘’What was it like ta play surgeon? I bet it was more excitin’ than tellin’ old people which and how many pills ta take every mornin’.’’

‘’In comparison, doing something practical was heavenly. I feel that it would be my calling if the temptation to rearrange and to remove altogether wasn’t so… overpowering.’’

‘’Maybe. Your cuttin’ was ramrod straight, you’re a natural, mate.’’

Wren chuckled at that. ‘’No, no. It’s purely experience. When I first started out, I could hardly hold a scalpel properly, no less cut in straight lines.’’

He scooped up the waste dish. It was remarkably clean, of course. ‘’Did you collect any trophies?’’ He asked, looking to the empty tray.

‘’I did, in fact, it turns out that I play dentist too.’’ He said coyly. ‘’Would you like to see?’’ The man was beating around the bush, playing it off as if he were shy. Mick knew better than that.

‘’See what?’’ He asked, despite the fact he knew exactly what the good doctor was on about. He meant his collection, his hoard, his treasure trove that only he got to see. That would change, for both of them, he hoped.

‘’Come with me,’’ Wren said, offering his hand, which Mick took. He was led around the house again, up the stairs and through the hall into a familiar room. Wren’s bedroom.

It was as pretty as he remembered, with one distinct difference. The branching, bony antlers of the deer had replaced the painting that had been up there before. He couldn’t help but feel warm inside. It was like receiving a compliment, but through a simple action of displaying his achievement and holding it in high enough regard to keep it. They were clean, of course. There wasn’t a drop of blood on the jagged tips. The horns had been meticulously and lovingly cleaned.

Wren walked over to the cupboard and began to dig through the drawers. ‘’Ach, I always forget where I put it…’’

Eventually, the doctor found what he was looking for. He held a small strongbox, of which he placed on the bed. It was metal and evidently old with a rusted digit combination lock. The doctor sat on the edge of the mattress and patted the space next to him. The Australian didn’t hesitate. He joined him at the hip, waiting eagerly for what was to come. It felt as if he was about to be shown the crown jewels in a palace.

With some effort, it opened. He was shown the contents as one would offer a wedding ring to a future spouse. Inside the cold, metal walls were an extensive and remarkable assortment of teeth, quite like something Mick had at home, yet completely different. It was the same on principle; it was a collection, a remnant of pride, a physical reminder of achievement. They were souvenirs, like photographs of victims. It contained a collection of only molars of varying shapes and sizes. Some were bloodied from being forced out, others were broken whilst some had fillings. All of them were undoubtedly from those he had killed. It was far more organised than the younger man’s own box of goodies and he was reluctant to admit that his collection was more expansive, too. It was… vast and rich in terms of specimens. It was simply beautiful, like seeing a complete collection of vintage collectables. He examined a few things, feeling the items that interested him and gave Wren a nod of acknowledgement. A silent admission that he was impressed. He could understand the odd choice of memorabilia. Teeth were unique enough to be individual but were uniform enough to look neat when put alongside each other. Wren evidently valued uniformity and harmony and unity. They had to fit in, at least in his mind.

‘’Did ya pluck one from—‘’ He didn’t even have to finish.

‘’I did.’’ Wren said, eyes darting around the box, searching. He picked a particular tooth out. It had a white filling and therefore had belonged to a young person. Older folks typically had black fillings.

‘’But you didn’t kill him, did ya?’’ He prodded.

Wren had the perfect counter. ‘’But you killed him for me.’’ He said smugly, knowing he’d won this argument. ‘’I may as well have done it.’’

‘’I can’t dispute that.’’ He submitted.

Wren closed the box before putting it aside. ‘’Though, I must admit that the gesture was rather _romantic._ The mere concept of killing someone for another and no less the execution of it was… _breathtaking_. The way you did it with the flowers and the feathers… _gott,_ it felt like you were flirting with me!’’ 

He felt himself warming, burning, being set aflame. ‘’I jus’ wanted to get your attention.’’ He mustered.

‘’You have me, Mick.’’ He said ever so softly. ‘’You have my full attention…’’ Wren cupped his chin, looking at him with something so intense he could hardly fathom what it was. It was a feeling. He didn’t know which one. It was something he couldn’t read. He hadn’t learned to read these sorts of signals. ‘’You should feel special. If you were anyone else, I would have wrung your neck by now.’’

‘’Why haven’t ya?’’ He knew better than to poke a sleeping bear, but he so wanted to know.

‘’Isn’t it obvious? I like you.’’ They were few words, deliberately concise to cut the bullshit. Either way, to be appreciated felt… good. Better than that. He felt alive. He wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe it was the positive buzz from the alcohol, maybe it was something more. He was more inclined to think it was the latter. Mick opened his mouth to tell him that he felt a similar way but an index was placed to his lips. ‘’I already know.’’ He said knowingly. ‘’You wouldn’t stalk me out to my workplace, then to my house and then kill someone for me if you weren’t fond of me.’’

Putting it like that, he felt warm inside. Wren had considered his efforts to be cordial and adoring, others may have interpreted his actions as stalkerish or unsettling and it filled him with joy to think the other man understood his intentions. ‘’Would you have done the same for me?’’ He asked, feeling that he was stepping into dangerous territory.

The doctor paused, thinking for a moment. ‘’…No, I don’t think I would have.’’ He said, voice cold but not guilty. Mick was taken aback and felt a selfish offense at the statement. ‘’I don’t have the same resolve, I’m afraid. In your position I would have held my tongue and let you do as you did before.’’ He wasn’t sure what to think, he knew he was upset by the fact, but he didn’t know what _sort_ of upset he felt. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t… disappointed. No, he felt belittled. Small. Inadequate. He valued Wren more than— ‘’But… because I don’t have the same drive, I can admire your ability to persist even upon rejection. You wanted something and so, you went out of your way to retrieve it. And look at us now, hm? You did all of this.’’ A hand was on his thigh now, a long fingertip traced in circles, making him feel warm. Loved. Admired. Those sweetened, saccharine words combined with even a gentle touch had soothed the uncomfortable, crawling feeling of discontent.

He lost any semblance of articulateness. ‘’I… I, um…’’ He mustered, feeling his words escaping him. He knew he was smiling but felt no urge to put a stop to it. He was beaming from ear to ear, blushing like a flustered schoolgirl and all giddy inside.

‘’So ein hübsches Lächeln!’’ The doctor squealed excitedly, pinching Mick’s cheeks.

He had no idea what Wren had said, but judging by his tone and demeanour, it had been a compliment. The man had squealed as if he were fawning over a cute puppy or the like. Though, he wasn’t even close to an adorable dog. He was just a nasty bushman. He couldn’t understand it in all honesty. And Wren had only responded that way because he was grinning. He knew such an event was rare, but it was strange to get so excited about it. It wasn’t a blue moon, just a man with a smile on his face. ‘’Quit spoutin’ gibberish, mate!’’ He cried out of embarrassment. ‘’I’m jus’ smilin’, is all! It aint a big deal.’’

‘’You know that to be a lie… oh look at you!’’ He cooed excitedly. ‘’I’ve never seen you look so alive! You look so _happy_ , Mick. It’s a welcome change… A smile looks good on you.’’ He said warmly a hand cupping his chin. ‘’It’s a ‘big deal’, ja?’’ He said, using his hand to force Mick to nod. He shied away in embarrassment, feeling like a puppet.

‘’Well, I smile a lot ‘round ya. Must be contagious.’’ He said, forcing Wren’s hand away.

‘’Must be.’’ He said, looking to the open window, thinking. The curtains danced in the night air, swaying silently like ghosts of cotton. ‘’What time is it?’’ He asked out of the blue, not so elegantly destroying the silence in the process.

The bushman checked the time on his phone. ‘’Shit. It’s late. Nearly midnight.’’

‘’Midnight?!’’ He cried in disbelief. ‘’There’s no way you’ve been here this long…’’

He really didn’t want to say it. But he had to go. He had to get his chooks out of their pen in the morning and to water the garden and all the rest of it. Besides, it would be impolite to stay all night. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay and talk the night away. But he knew that would cross a line. They could meet up another time. Perhaps at his place like he’d said. ‘’Y’know, I should get goin’. I don’t really want ta go jus’ yet but… yeah. My chickens will get pissy with me if I don’t get ‘em up in the mornin’ and feed ‘em.’’ He rose up awkwardly.

‘’What a shame.’’ Wren sighed, getting up with him. ‘’But I understand. It’s been wonderful, I must say. And also a lot of fun. We should do this again.’’

‘’If… If ya would like, ya could come ovah to mine for lunch or somethin’?‘’

Wren remembered their earlier discussion and his face lit up with excitement. In fact, his whole demeanour changed from weary to raring to go in a single moment. ‘’I would love to!’’ He said, clasping his hands together. ‘’The only matter is when. I’m only free on weekends so…’’

‘’Next Saturday or somethin’ maybe?’’ It felt a little soon, but he wanted soon.

Wren placed an index to his lip, thinking it over, mentally checking his schedule. ‘’I believe that would be good.’’ He agreed, nodding.

He wasn’t sure how to say goodbye. It felt so wrong to just leave. ‘’Well, it’s been good… See ya later.’’

‘’Wait! One last thing.’’ Wren halted him by grabbing his arm. Before he could protest, the doctor had put his arms around him and had him in a tight embrace, hugging him affectionately. Mick felt the man could snap him in two if he really wanted to, but here, he was gentle. Mick didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t used to this and inside, he was panicking. An internal alarm was pulled and his insides were screaming at him to do something but he didn’t know what that something was. It was warm and nice but part of him wanted to let go, whilst the other wanted to stay indefinitely.

Wren released him. ‘’Auf Wiedersehen.’’ He said, waving to him. ‘’Safe travels!’’

And just like that, it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> straight people flaunt their collection of human teeth to each other and stare at saws for uncomfortable periods of time, right?? 
> 
> Also school is gonna get hectic, so expect a bit of a wait. Sorry about that!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are a little bit gay
> 
> Lots of jumping pov so keep an eye out for ~***~  
> Happy reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a little while and I'm sorry about that.  
> Edit: I added some more to the dream for flavour :)

Wren let out a weary yawn and stretched out. He considered that endeavour to be a success. Perhaps more than that. He’d already been welcomed for another outing, after all. He quite liked the idea of seeing Mick again. It was incredibly rare to meet men like himself that weren’t locked away like rabid dogs and so, he planned to savour the opportunity while it was there. Though, he doubted that Mick would be caught anytime soon. Men so far from civilisation tended to fall between the cracks.

Mick was far from civilisation in many ways. Sometimes he wondered if the man was even human or a creature in a man’s skin. Wren knew it was wrong for him to judge him for that, as he was just the same. Only, he hid himself better. It had been exhilarating to shed that skin of acquired normalcy in favour of something far more real. He hadn’t been dressing to impress or speaking to gain another’s endorsement but rather, for self-expression and his own pleasure. He felt warm now, alive. He’d gotten a fleeting, blissful reprieve from his own game.

Wren entertained the thought of dining with the Australian. He imagined it to be quite different, more relaxed, less uptight and more secluded. He figured that Mick would be more comfortable in his own territory. That old, creaky house of his was the perfect nest for a reclusive rat like Mick.

Somehow, he’d been alluring enough to convince even a socially inept creature to come to his doorstep. He had watched Mick open up, spill it all to him, entrust him with everything. He’d seen those wide pupils, the nervous glances and the flustered blush on his cheeks. Opening up for the first time in years must have been pure euphoria for him. And to think he would be the one to receive that honour… it was flattering.

Wren undressed ungracefully, readying himself for the comfortable darkness of sleep.

**~***~**

_The bush was deathly quiet for once. The typical morning call of the birds had all but disappeared and the wind was near still apart from the occasional breeze. The world was near silent._

_Except for the ugly coughs of crows._

_Mick followed his typical path and took in the fresh morning air, letting it settle in his bones and refresh him. He had to duck past low hanging branches that reached for him like woody fingers and push leaves away from him as he brushed past a bush. The clearing was up ahead, and the caws only grew louder. As he pushed past the trees and into the hollowed expanse of bush, he heard a crunch beneath his feet. H_ _e looked down and his whole body tensed. He had stood on a severed leg that had been picked at until nothing remained but bone. Beside it was a large arm bone and just by that was an unidentifiable chunk of cartilage. There were other parts, like antlers, skulls and teeth. His heart began to race. It was beating hard, attempting to warn him that this was a nest of carnage and that he was ankle deep in it._

_The crows were feasting on the nesting ground. Ripping at the free food all around them. Some were digging up bones and flesh to bring home to their nests. He looked up and realised that it didn’t stop there. Whole lines of people dangled from the old ghost gum upside down, being bled like meat. Some hung by their intestines, others by their broken limbs. He noticed that one of them was still breathing, just slightly. He watched as blood dribbled from their open stomach onto the collection of morbid trophies below them._

_That one was recent. Very recent. Perhaps it had been done mere minutes ago._

_He jumped as he locked eyes with someone. But then he saw the cloudiness in those once amber irises and he realised that he had met eyes with nothing more than a corpse. He approached the figure and crouched to take a closer look. His morbid curiosity took priority over any sensibility. Their skin was absent in places, and what remained was covered with scratches and cuts. Dried blood had painted the wounds and exposed bone a dark maroon. Their mouth was agape in a final gasp and their lips had been ripped off, exposing pearly white teeth. The birds had gotten to them, ripped them to shreds and likely fed the pieces to their brood. He traced a deep rake mark with his fingertip. It had been made by a strong, zealous claw. He was surprised that any flesh remained at all, considering the ravenous appetite of these birds._

_His instincts screamed at him to run. He didn’t know where he would go. Or if he even wanted to go. And though it was beautiful, he didn’t want to be a part of this entanglement of bones, flesh and blood. But another part of him begged him to stay, to linger and to admire the work of this collector. His body was flooding with adrenaline but he ignored it in favour of examining the expansiveness of this nest – he couldn’t see the end of it. Someone had been building it for a long time, perfecting it, adding to it…_

_A scream rang out from nearby. He followed the sound eagerly, his eyes darting everywhere for the source._

_Mick’s eyes darted to the hanging cage that swayed ever so slightly in the wind. Inside was a bloke who was shrieking into his gag and writhing against the bars, only acting to deepen the wounds the crows had made with their beaks and claws. The flock dived for the vulnerable prey once more and Mick watched as each bird ripped strips of flesh off the man. Blood was pouring out of the open wounds and dripping off the bottom of the cage onto the grass. The crows swallowed the chunks of meat and swooped in once more, cawing loudly and ferociously. They bumped into each other whilst going for the most desirable regions. Then, a particularly daring raven went for an eye and began to pull. The rest followed suit and soon, the ravenous birds were fighting over it. The screaming only grew louder and tears were pouring out of the bloke’s eyes. He imagined that the salt from them only added to the stinging, burning sensations._

_Between the shrieks and animalistic cries, he could make out pleas for freedom and desperate whimpers for mercy. By now, both eyes had been ripped out, leaving behind bloody, gooey sockets. Every part of him had been ripped and torn. His skin was broken, raw and bloody. Surprisingly, he was still alive and by god, did he make sure he knew about it. He was yelling and crying like the world was ending. Mick supposed that his world was ending in a way._

_Just ahead was the wooden throne of a chair he remembered so vividly. It was positioned regally on a mound of bones, facing the hanging congregation of the dead and the dying. He noticed a figure perched regally on it, watching their victim squirm and scream. Eventually, the caged prey surrendered to the birds and fell limp, submitting to this nest, signing his body away to be a part of it. Once lifeless, the figure rose from their chair and shifted to the ghost gum. They took a freshly bled corpse and unhooked them from their noose of guts. He dragged the body to the epicentre of the nest,_ _where the flock came to feed. He fled behind a tree, peeking out to watch. He wondered if watching his flock feeding had inspired the leader to indulge too._

_The dragging stopped and the feasting began. He watched as the ravens circled in around the leader of the flock, awaiting permission to begin. They didn't dive ferociously this time, rather, watched their leader and sat patiently. It looked quite like a stage from afar and he felt as if he were watching a performance. He felt as if he were a guest of honour, coming to the queen’s palace for tea. Though, he didn’t feel out of place. He felt rather welcome, in fact._

_His mind began to race when hooked claws dug into the stomach of the flock’s prey, ripping the flesh like paper in order to get access to the most enticing, luscious parts. He watched, utterly hypnotised as the hunched figure of the leader dug through the insides of the corpse. Mick could hardly breathe and the heat was flooding to his cheeks with the thrill of being an interloper. He heard snaps, cracks and the sloshing of blood as they began to pull at something that caught his eye. Their bloodied, besmirched hands arose from the guts of their meal and in them, he held the victim’s lifeless heart. It had been ripped from its arteries and broken free from its cage of bone. All the while, the birds waited for an invitation. It seemed the boss got first pick._

_He realised he wanted to be part of this feast. He needed to join this flock of eager connoisseurs. He got out of hiding and came over to the crowd in a near sprint. As he ran, the stranger perked up and locked eyes with him, judging his intent. From up close, he recognised this individual. The white eyes, distinctive scar and angular features gave him away._

_‘’Wren,’’ He breathed, breathless from both running and from watching this extravagant ritual. From Wren’s back, magnificent ebony wings had sprouted. The shoots of them had broken flesh and left sores but it appeared to be a necessary pain for such an astonishing transformation. The black feathers shone brilliant greens and purples in the light. His once human hands had been embellished with dark, hooked claws akin to those of his avian companions. His fingers were bloodied from digging in the carcass. ‘’…Could I join you lot?’’ He mustered shyly._

_‘’You may.’’ He said, gesturing to the empty space beside him. ‘’Sit and wait like the rest.’’_

_He attempted to move a few bones in order to make a comfortable seat but upon receiving glares from not only the flock, but Wren too, he gave up and opted for a jagged limb in his side than an angry flock. He crossed his legs, placing his hands in his lap and obediently waited as he’d been told to do._

_Wren looked different like this. He appeared smaller without the eccentric clothes. Frailer, somehow. But in other ways, statelier, like a cellar spider; delicate yet dangerous. The magnificent wings contributed to that exquisite image and refined air. Mick could only think of how he looked like an angel, seated on a mass grave of his own creation. Elegance had fused with savagery to create an astonishing compromise._

_A long talon pierced the thick, muscular flesh of the heart and ripped it into fragments. The largest one was chosen from the pile and delivered to his lips. At first, he was stunned and frozen into place. Though, the scent of that rich meat overwhelmed him and instead of politely declining, he opened his mouth by pure instinct. Then, a delightful flavour was on his tongue and he took it all in with glee. It was rich in terms of taste but not too different when compared to the average cut of meat. It was tough and he could feel the strings inside the flesh snapping as he chewed._

_The moment he swallowed another piece was placed to his lips and bumped the soft skin of his lip, marking it with blood. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to take more. This meat didn’t belong to him. He looked to the hungry birds all around him and realised that he’d gotten permission. This was okay. He took what was offered to him and a little bit more. He deliberately leant forward just a touch and let his tongue brush the rich, coppery gore. His chest felt tight as he suckled the blood off his index, greedily taking more than he should. Wren took the last part for himself and managed to make such a barbaric act of sheer indulgence look dignified. Mick watched him as one watches a girl in the shower – timorously and dotingly._

_His gaze was noticed and then those dead eyes trailed downward, examining Mick’s chest down to his legs. He saw the beginnings of a smile before hooked claws dug into his collar, tearing the fabric. A gasp escaped his lips in surprise and before he could protest, his shirt had been ripped in two. He clutched his chest and pouted in irritation. ‘’What the fuck do ya think you’re doin’?’’_

_‘’Please, if you want to be a part of this, I must insist that you fit in.’’ At first, those words puzzled him but then he realised it, or rather, acknowledged it. Every living creature in this roost was unclothed, except for him. He realised that he must appear ridiculous in this naturalistic home made of flesh and blood. He would embrace every part of himself, no matter how animalistic._

_He allowed himself to be undressed, though, his certainty on the matter didn’t calm his quickening heart. He was going to be seen. Fully exposed. He breathed in deep, trying desperately not to shy away from the feather touch that brushed his skin as his shirt was gently pulled from his shoulders and his pants tugged off. He could feel the coolness on his skin as the air stole his warmth from him. It was refreshing in a way, to be freed from the heat. He covered his bare chest by wrapping his arms around himself._

_‘’Let me look at you,’’ Wren purred, clawed hands locking around his wrists in order to lift them. Mick complied, allowing the other man to see his bare body. Once exposed, those hands crawled down his chest, following the thin trail of dark curls with his fingers. ‘’Simply breathtaking.’’ He said softly, hands trailing to his thighs. He leaned in close, so close that he could feel the heat of the other man’s breath._

_And then it happened and he couldn’t breathe. It was shy at first, uncertain and curious. He felt soft lips against his own, gentle and kind. The kiss was relaxed and loving, tender, almost. It was heaven all over and he so wanted to surrender to it. He allowed the affectionate kisses to overwhelm him. He leant into it, succumbing to Wren’s administrations. Those hands didn't leave, rather, they kept exploring. They traced and touched and caressed every inch of him leaving tingly, warm sensations behind. They went to his hips, to his chest and then they were around his neck, pulling him closer._ _He could taste the faint flavours of blood and raw flesh as the other man kissed him. His tongue brushed up against Mick's lips, asking for entry. He obliged, opening his mouth to let Wren in. He wanted the man all over him, he wanted to feel all of him, to be pampered by him. He nearly moaned in delight as that eager tongue ravished him._

_He realised that he liked this roost. The raven before him had built this beautiful nest of carnage and death and was welcoming him to it with love and affection. He liked this place. It was so pretty it hurt. He’d gladly stay here forever with the other man. It was almost like a haven, a personal paradise._

_But he knew that he would have to leave soon._

*******

Mick awoke to the sun in his eyes. It glared in, cruelly taking his dream away. He didn’t normally dream so… _vividly_. Normally they were half dreams, half memories. They were never completely fabricated. They weren’t typically fantastical nests of death and decay, filled with birds and--

A name came to him and he rose upward, jutting forward at the memory.

 _Wren_.

He’d dreamt of him. Imagined being fed by him, being undressed by him, sitting in the nude together and allowing himself to be smothered in attention. It hadn’t been a nightmare at all, but rather, a pleasant, near blissful fantasy. It was horrifying to think his own subconscious had betrayed him like that. It had created the bizarre images and strange feelings. It was all so odd. Why Wren? Actually, he knew exactly why. Wren was the only person he'd been remotely friendly with for years and so out of neglect, his mind had reminded him of his neglected needs. He knew that he should be disgusted with himself for thinking of such smutty imagery and dirty ideas. But he wasn't. He felt liberated somehow, like he'd let a caged bird free. It felt as if he'd embraced a part of himself he'd refused to acknowledge for too long. He didn't feel like a pervert or a sick fuck, rather, he felt _good_. He'd felt loved for the first time in a long time. He'd felt attractive and desired. Precious and adored. Lust was a foreign thing for him. Alien, almost. He'd buried it deep, choosing to forget it. And now, it had resurfaced, come to shore at the forefront of his mind like a bottle cap that refused to erode.

This miswiring of many was one that was easily forgotten among the more severe. He was a pooftah and always had been. He had ignored his urges since his teenage years after his old man forbade him from having people over – whether they were male or female – in fear of them discovering the family secret. Those he crushed on almost always turned out to be ferociously heterosexual. Once he’d met a young bloke just like him and they nearly got down to it only Mick panicked and decided to leave it at a nice cuddle together. He’d been so afraid and now, he regretted being so skittish. Frankly, it was embarrassing to be pure still.

It was little wonder that he dreamt of a far more experienced man taking the reins, showing him just what he wanted.

He realised that he was warm. Too warm. He put a hand to his cheek. It was hot. Too hot. It felt as if he'd been set alight from the inside. He went to throw his sheets off but then he noticed something even more unusual than the dream. The sheets had tented between his legs. He chose to ignore it. He didn't want to spit on his sweet dream with a hurried, desperate attempt to please himself. 

He shook off the memory of it all, putting it away for later. He had things to do. He rose from his bed for good, deciding to embrace the day.

*******

Mick spent his afternoon cleaning up his pigsty of a home. He cleaned up the pile of dishes that had been stacking higher and higher over the course of the week and put his dirty clothes in the wash. He vacuumed the house, dusted the shelves and ornaments. He opened the curtains to let some light in and cleared the table of junk and crumbs. He cleaned everything and anything he could think of. Though he knew he would never get the place squeaky clean even if he spent hours doing so. Even when his dad was still around, they couldn’t clean it properly. It seemed they both lacked a woman’s touch.

Tomorrow loomed over his every action like a shadow. The pressure grew with each passing minute. Each minute that flew by was a lost opportunity to impress and to prepare. He worked vigorously, tirelessly. He wanted the place to be at least presentable as it seemed Wren was a bit of a neat freak if the spotless condition of his home was anything to go by.

Mick told himself tomorrow would be here before he knew it.

**~***~**

The week passed at an unbearably slow pace for Wren. Normally his workdays felt short, as he kept himself busy with clients at the clinic. However, with his excitement for his little date with Mick, the days dragged to a painful extent. His appointments felt long and tiresome, with each conversation feeling faker than the last. The ticks of the clock punctuated every moment, reminding him of every second that passed.

The itch to break free of his artificial smile and laughter in favour of something real had grown to be near painful. He hadn’t felt this way since his childhood, when pretending to be normal had been foreign to him rather than second nature. He felt an overwhelming longing to let himself go, to be authentic again. He knew his desire to discard his veil was dangerous. It would only get him into trouble. But even so, he hungered for it. He wanted to liberate himself of it again. He knew that he would have to wait for it. He would free himself soon. He just had to be patient.

In time, he would show the man everything. Tell him even his darkest secrets. He would unleash himself. There was no excuse not to. They would be out in the bush, completely out of earshot, away from all civilisation and free to be the monsters they were. He wanted to spill blood by his side, to explore their vicious miswirings together. Wren wanted to let go and to embrace his monstrous tendencies alongside another. The thought of going near feral with the bushman made him feel warm all over. The very concept thrilled him to no end.

‘’Big night, Wren?’’ One of the younger doctors asked, leaning into his office doorway like the nosy peeper she was, inadvertently killing all thoughts in his mind. ‘’You’re a bit out of it.’’

‘’Ja,’’ He said bordering on a lie. ‘’I had a little too much to drink.’’ He met those inquisitive eyes.

‘’Well hungover or not, you better get to it soon. Break is nearly over.’’

‘’I’m well aware.’’ He mumbled apathetically before she left. He didn’t consider his colleagues to be his friends, but on days like these, they were nearly the opposite. He just wanted them to go away and to leave him alone with his thoughts. Sometimes he felt like a bumblebee in this place, doing his work like a mindless drone and seeing the same people every week, saying the same things and doing things he’d done the day before. It was all too routinely.

He realised then that he wanted a holiday. A long one away from this awful clinic.

Wren rose from his desk, downed his coffee and walked out into the waiting room to fetch his next patient. He needed the day to end and perhaps, chipping away at a few more of the sick and elderly would accelerate the day that seemed to crawl on forever.

After today, it would only be a three-hour drive to sit through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know its not what you lot come here for but I'm having a little bit of life stuff right now and I would like to vent it out to the open air. If you don't care, don't read, idm. Sorry for the emotional dump :( 
> 
> Part of the reason this chapter took so long (despite only being around 2-3 thousand words) is that school has gotten real intense in these past few weeks. I've had a lot of assessments lately (and coming up) so its been rather stressful and often leaves me too drained to write - so I'm sorry if there was a noticeable reduction of quality in this part. Also, toxic friends are a thing and I wish they weren't. 
> 
> Regardless, with life being a bit nightmarish at the moment, this place is sort of a refuge for me. Writing is the perfect escapism and knowing you guys enjoy these crazy little stories always makes me happy. I can't even describe the wonderful feeling I get when a notification from one of you leaving kudos or lovely comments comes up. I love talking with you guys. In a weird way, I feel like I'm part of something nice where I can be me to random people. 
> 
> I love you guys.
> 
> On a brighter note, the next bit will be fun, I promise. <3  
> Also, homoerotic dreams are my favourite to write. I love writing dreams but man, when they're gay dreams that's the shit  
> Wren's 'virgin' senses are gonna be tingling soon and I'm fucking scared
> 
> I've been playing a lot of tf2 lately and by god do I love it. I can't put the game down and i'm hooked on battle engineer like there's no tomorrow. Nothing better than surprising someone with a shotgun to the face! I actually got into a bit of trading and bought a stat clock for my shotgun and a strange crusader's crossbow. Its good stuff.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they have lunch together :)
> 
> These two should just kiss already goddamn it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me writing a chapter 11,000 words long? More likely than you think.  
> This whole thing is from Wren's perspective, I love using new, needlessly fancy words :)  
> I'm on holidays now for ~2 weeks so updates should come a bit faster now.

Wren towelled off his sopping mess of hair and ran the teeth of the comb through it, forcing any and every stray back in line. He felt truly clean as if he’d washed the week away along with the dirt. The weariness had been taken away from him and the burn on his eyes from waking up had dissolved in the heat. Warmth remained on his skin and he knew it would be cruelly taken from him the moment he stepped outside the bathroom. He would have to leave this temporary cell of warmth and mitigation to embrace the morning. The mirror had misted up completely and the room nearly resembled a sauna with all the steam.

Unfortunately, he had to leave the heated, comfortable confines of the bathroom in favour of dressing himself. It was a pity, he quite liked walking around in the nude. He felt freer that way, more comfortable. In a world of starched collars and ironed shirts – which he was willingly a part of – a brief reprieve of unconstrained exposure was paradise. When there was nobody to impress, he allowed himself to be bare. The appeal of dressy clothes often wore thin after a long day in the clinic and to be unclothed was as close to euphoria as one could get.

But here he was, browsing through his wardrobe, searching for something appropriate to wear out to lunch. He was torn on what would be the best option. He was aware that they would likely be out in the bush and so he was tempted to wear something a little more casual. Though his instincts wanted him to come overdressed for fun. He compromised. Forcing a ceasefire from the conflicting sides. He went for a simple buttoned shirt – with no tie – and dress pants. It would do. Formal enough to make a statement but informal enough as to not be overbearing.

He glanced in the mirror, deemed his demeanour to be acceptable and he started on the real preparations. He started by packing his bag. He knew he wouldn’t need much but it was difficult to know with someone he’d spent so little time with. Wren put his gloves in, just in case. He wasn’t sure if they would get into trouble or not. The country provided ample opportunity to get up to mischief without the public eye on their backs. He put his scalpel in, shyly admitting to the fact that while he didn’t think Mick would attempt to harm him, it was certainly possible. In the other man’s turf, he’d need every advantage he could get if things turned sour.

However, with the way the bushman liked to stare and how he followed him like a doting puppy, Wren doubted that Mick would ever think of attacking him. Another part of him argued that even puppies could bite if their tails were pulled. He felt almost guilty for arming himself but labelled it as a necessary evil. Wren slung the bag over his shoulder and halted in place, mentally going through a checklist of what he’d need.

He had what he needed and if anything, more than that. Caution was appropriate with others like himself. They were often unpredictable and from his experience, could turn on a whim. One wrong word and there could be hands around his neck or a knife in his gut. Though seemingly passive, Wren was aware of just how dangerous Mick could be.

He shook off his worries. If Mick wanted to kill him, he would have done so already. It wasn’t his way to draw out a killing. The bushman liked to get it over and done with rather than to play with his potential victims. Wren personally fell into the latter category. If he was going to the effort to end a life, he liked to draw it out, to make it enjoyable. If over too quickly, it wasn’t satisfying. He preferred to play with his prey. Make a game out of it. He wasn’t one to merely jump at his victims, teeth bared with murderous intent, rather, he liked to make them increasingly aware of his presence, hiding in plain sight, lurking just out of reach, waiting for the perfect opportunity. He so enjoyed tugging at the threads of rationality until they came undone, revealing only paranoia. Fearful sheep were more fun to slaughter. The smarter ones noticed him there, watching, waiting. The braver of them even spoke with him. But when greeted with a pleasant smile and a cheery outlook, they all but forgot about him until his hands were around their necks, sending them under as the oxygen became too difficult to grasp.

The game didn’t end when he had them at his mercy. The long drive out to the bush was a vital part of his game. It forced his victims to be at his side, to spend time with their soon to be killer. Some tried to fight their way out, some merely surrendered, others threatened him, some begged, some cried and the truly special of them talked to him, trying to understand him. Of course, friendliness did not grant mercy, merely a lighter punishment. To him, it took bravery to confront the source of one’s fear.

He looked to the clock and realised if he let his mind wander any longer, he’d be late. Wren put on his boots and took a final walk around the house, locking the doors and ensuring he wouldn’t forget anything. On the way out the door he fetched his glasses and hooked them over his ears by instinct alone.

Wren closed the door behind him, and his car clicked as the doors unlocked. He got in, started it and departed.

*******

Wren had nearly memorised the route out to the bush. Each time he did it, he was absolutely astounded by how quiet it was out there. There were so few people and at night, the road was completely empty. Such emptiness would be a miracle out in the city. Though he preferred the infrastructure and convenience the dense suburbs provided, there was definitely appeal in the defunct, untamed and vast bushland. It promised a sort of liberation that suburban life couldn’t fulfil. It provided absolute privacy. It presented the option of returning to a world where all turned a blind eye to the unusual. Outside of the cramped city walls, the unusual became common and accepted. People didn’t have to lock their doors. There was trust. Community. Both of which were lacking in suburbia.

As he drove in the quiet, he realised that this was the first time he’d undergone this journey alone. There was nobody in the passenger seat, desperately writhing in their restraints or screaming futilely at him to release them. In situations like those, he’d often joke, saying something along the lines of (but not restricted to) ‘’ _What? You want to go out into the countryside? I’m afraid you’ll die a far slower death out there than with me!’’_ That sort of humour was never appreciated with them, of course. It was more for his own enjoyment.

He found it curious how everyone was so irritable on the road. Man or woman, young or old, it seemed that every group hated one another when hidden in the safe metal walls of a vehicle. He’d seen even the most sheepish of people scream and yell like rabid animals. It was a truly ugly thing, to see the promise of anonymity promote absolutely abhorrent behaviour.

Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to witness much more of that. He was well and truly out of the city now and entering the semi-rural areas that acted as a bridge between civilisation and the countryside. Wren felt himself turning impatient. The novelty of a long drive had worn thin and left only restlessness. He found himself bored of this. It was tiresome.

*******

It was relieving to arrive. He was on time, if not a touch early. He stepped out of the car to open the gate and then back in to park – it was an inconvenient system and seemingly unnecessary – but he complied with it, finding the concept of leaving his car on the verge especially unappealing. He stepped out onto the familiar property and looked to where he’d left a gift the last time he was here. Unfortunately, Wren’s composition had been dismantled to prevent decay, it seemed. Even the rope had been taken. He supposed it had to be done at some point.

He walked up to the wooden porch. It was old wood, the kind that would provide a person with ample splinters just from walking on it barefoot. The nails in it had long since rusted and in parts, the weather had eaten away at it. By the door, a mix of footwear stood. Everything from runners to rainboots to steel toed boots were there for convenience. He couldn’t help but notice the vegetable garden just by the house, nearly overflowing with bright green plants. He could hear rustling from within and so, he took a peek. He first saw the red comb of a chicken, then the rest of it as it walked out of the garden bed, a worm in its beak. On its quest for the worm it had ripped up a few plants. There were more hens, all squabbling over dirt patches and greens. He noted the rooster, fat as one could be. Their coop was a little further up. He couldn’t help but wonder if Mick had built it, as it lacked that mechanical precision bought ones had. It looked to be made lovingly nonetheless, with hay inside and ample space for the chickens.

Wren decided to stop stalling and instead, went to the front door. He rapped against the door and waited. The whole place looked old. He hoped the inside wasn’t the same but his instincts told him that if anything, it’d be worse. Nature had a habit of cleaning up after itself and he figured Mick did not share that same habit. He wouldn’t complain. The man had invited him out for lunch after all. It would be impolite to whine.

The door opened with a creak and standing shyly behind it was Mick. Today he looked more like himself, rather than a timid boy trying to impress a girl’s parents. He was wearing a shirt with raglan sleeves and jeans. It was a natural look for him. He looked far more comfortable than he did when they last met. ‘’G’day,’’ He said quietly, nearly mumbling it. As usual, he refused to meet eye contact. He knew it wasn’t a personal thing but rather, the product of severe introversion. He saw the beginnings of a smile before it died. He hoped it would become easier for the bushman to smile as time went on. It nearly hurt to watch him try and fail to do something so natural for every other person. ‘’Do ya not know what the word ‘casual’ means, mate?’’ He asked, gesturing to his outfit. Mick took a step back to let him inside.

‘’I do,’’ He said as he stepped into the doorway. It was surprisingly bright inside. He’d been expecting a dim rat’s den rather than a bright, relatively clean country house. ‘’But I enjoy dressing up.’’ He looked to a painting in the hall. It was of the typical bushland scene, with gum trees and colourful cockatoos perched on them. ‘’Besides, it looks good on me, does it not?’’ He added, hoping to incite some sort of reaction from him. He liked tip-toeing over boundaries like this. It felt like testing the waters in a way, investigating the nature of the man he was with.

‘’I s’pose.’’ He said, shrugging with both his body and his voice.

He decided to step over the line, just a little bit. ‘’Please, if you don’t like it, tell me outright. I would rather not have to guess your meaning.’’

‘’It’s not that I don’t loike it, it’s jus’ I don’t really care what ya wear as long as ya aren’t prancin’ ‘round naked.’’ Mick defended himself well with humour as if it were second nature. He thought to prod more often.

‘’Don’t talk like you wouldn’t enjoy that.’’ He said, daring to step well over that line of formality. Mick said nothing to that and instead, walked down the hall. He followed the scrawny Australian out to the main room. It looked to be a lounge room, with an old-style sofa that looked to be about as comfortable as a plank of wood. Alongside it was rustic furniture, with what looked to be a handmade coffee table. Cylindrical wooden pillars lead up to the second floor, where a small room resided up the top. He wondered if there was a balcony. He couldn’t discern what sort of room it was from down there. He thought to have a look later on. A fireplace was embedded in the wall, with fresh logs lit and gradually smouldering from inside the glass walls. It was an old-style fireplace that had seen lots of use over the years as the bricks had been charred black. He noted the acrylic painting of wild horses on the wall just nearby. That too appeared provincial. Something about the style gave away that it was archaic and terribly old-fashioned. He hoped to god Mick hadn’t decorated the place himself. Though it was unlikely, as such outdated items were hard to get these days. It was more likely that he had bought the place second hand or inherited it.

From what he could tell, Mick lived alone. The place lacked the distinctive neatness of a woman – or even a partner - and all was quiet. It wasn’t enough of a pigsty for the man to have roomates. It was unlikely anyone would actively live with Mick, or rather, that he would let anyone live with him.

The floorboards creaked and groaned under him, as if they were exhausted. He looked to the mounted, taxidermized head of a doe mounted on the wall. Its golden eyes were unseeing, almost plastic in appearance. ‘’Ghastly.’’ He commented in passing before moving onto the next thing. A stuffed barn owl. This one was of better quality, more lifelike. It had been positioned on a polished wooden perch. He could feel Mick’s eyes on his back while he inspected the room. He scooped up a small bone knife on the mantlepiece and turned it over in his hands. The handle was natural for him and a comfortable grip. Stabbing someone would be a comfortable act. ‘’Where did you get this beautiful thing?’’ He asked, looking to the slightly red-faced bushman who had hidden his hands in his pockets.

‘’I… I made it, actually.’’ He admitted almost shamefully. Wren could hardly believe it. It looked professionally done, not by a hobbyist.

‘’Really?’’ He asked, the astonishment audible in his voice.

‘’Yeah. I did that one a while ago to keep myself busy.’’ Mick walked over, joining his side. It seemed he wasn’t hiding anymore. Mick took the sheath off to show him the actual blade, which was bone too. On it was an engraving of a swan. It was detailed, too. Artful. ‘’That one there is s’posed ta be a black swan, but it’s a bit tricky ta do without colour.’’

‘’Don’t take this the wrong way, but I would have never expected something of this calibre from you.’’ He traced the smooth lines of the engraving with his fingertip. ‘’It’s very… artful.’’ He praised. ‘’People would pay good money for something like this.’’ He said, looking to Mick. ‘’Myself included, of course.’’

‘’Ya reckon?’’ Mick sounded surprised by the idea.

‘’Mhm.’’ He put the sheath back on. ‘’You could tell them that the bone belonged to a deer or even an unfortunate cow and no one would be able to tell the difference.’’

He saw Mick tense up, freezing in place. ‘’How did ya know it wasn’t animal bone?’’

‘’I didn’t. I merely guessed and it seems I was right.’’ He chuckled. ‘’I can’t fault you for being resourceful.’’

‘’I… I don’t like wastin’ anythin’ so I make anythin’ I can with what I got.’’ It was a fair ethos to have, considering how he lived. From what he could see Mick wasn’t particularly wealthy and if he was, he didn’t like to flaunt it. Everything was inexpensive or made by him. Wren found resourcefulness to be particularly attractive. It was something he lacked. He mostly relied on rigid, thought out plans rather than spontaneity and ingenuity.

‘’I can tell.’’ He replied, looking to the room around him. ‘’Goodness, this room feels like a time capsule. You don’t throw anything out, do you?’’

Mick itched at his collar sheepishly. ‘’Nah… I mean, none of its broken so I don’t see the point’a gettin’ rid of it. No matter what ya do or buy, it’ll be out’a fashion eventually, yeah?’’

‘’True. But I do think a renovation might do this place some good.’’ He said, looking to the simply awful drapery. 

‘’I know it’s ugly lookin’ but its home, y’know?’’

‘’…There is a certain charm about it.’’ He reluctantly admitted. Though he refused to disclose that said charm was akin to that of a vintage hunter’s cabin rather than a proper, comfortable home. ‘’I assume that you live alone, then? I doubt many others would tolerate this sort of décor.’’ He pretended to be surprised by the idea of the Australian living alone. He could already tell. There was no confirmation necessary.

‘’Yeah. Few wanna stay all the way out here, so yeah, I live alone.’’ It was saddening to hear, because he was beginning to understand Mick’s obsession with him. Loneliness had sparked their impromptu relationship. Mick quickly changed the subject. ‘’Anyway, should we go to the kitchen? Ya didn’t droive all this fuckin’ way jus’ ta laugh at a bloke’s furniture.’’

He smirked at that. ‘’Caught me there.’’ Wren followed the bushman to his kitchen, a creak punctuating almost every step. It was larger than he had anticipated, but he supposed one needed a lot of room to butcher large animals. And at one stage, this place had served to feed a family. ‘’Were you an only child, Mick?’’ He asked, realising midway through that it would be out of the blue to the other man.

‘’Yep. I was. I wasn’t s’posed to happen but I did. I dunno how I was the fastest bloody swimmer but here I am.’’ He said, gesturing to himself. ‘’Well, mum and dad loved me anyway, even if I was a mistake.’’ He looked to Wren. ‘’How ‘bout you?’’

‘’Do I look like an accident?’’ He joked.

‘’Loike a big one.’’ Mick added, holding his arms out wide.

He couldn’t stifle a laugh. ‘’Well, I wasn’t informed of the circumstances of my conception. My parents were far too stuck up to admit to a mistake… if I were one, I mean.’’

‘’Maybe they jus’ wanted ta spare you the trouble of knowin’.’’ Mick added, browsing the sun-bleached fridge for a beer. He found one. ‘’Ya want a beer or anythin’?’’ He asked, looking to him with a cold can in hand.

He debated whether he wanted to put cheap liquor into his system. However, he couldn’t deny the appeal of a cold drink right about now. ‘’Ja, if you wouldn’t mind.’’ Mick handed it to him and he cracked the top open. ‘’Danke.’’ It tasted cheap, but he didn’t mind. He was drinking with company. The Australian browsed through the compartments in the refrigerator. He noted the diluted blood dripping onto the bottom from where the meats were resting. He wanted to scold Mick for not packaging them properly, but he resisted that impulse. He was a guest, after all.

‘’So, what do ya want for lunch? I got almost every cut’a meat you can imagine and a chockablock veggie patch.’’

The stack of meats and organs was intimidating, making his choice impossible. ‘’Surprise me. I’m sure you’re experienced enough to make any of it simply delightful.’’ He put a hand on Mick’s shoulder, feeling him tense at the touch. He tended to freeze up at any contact. It was likely unusual for a recluse like him to be touched. It was pitiful. Saddening, almost.

‘’Indecisive bastard.’’ He muttered, shaking his head. ‘’Fuck it, heart it is.’’ He felt a burst of excitement at the prospect. The idea of an exotic treat unavailable anywhere else made him feel extremely fortunate. Lucky, even. He would be privileged and spoilt today. He was giddy, like an excitable child being presented with lollies. Mick pulled two maroon coloured, veiny hearts from the oozing mass of meats. He laid them out on the bench and sliced them into thin pieces. ‘’The droive up here wasn’t too bad, was it?’’ He asked as he chopped them up.

‘’No. I had no issue with it. The only bother was that I had nobody to keep me company.’’

‘’Ya loike it when people are screamin’ at ya?’’ He asked, catching his meaning nearly instantly.

‘’Not when they scream like children, no. But I do enjoy the company of those who talk with me like rational adults.’’ His voice soured at the memory of those who spent the drive hurling all sorts of insults at him and screeching as if they were animals. ‘’The funny ones are always a treat to be with.’’

‘’Doesn’t stop you from killin’ ‘em though.’’ Mick added, now peeling a carrot.

‘’Of course not.’’ He replied. ‘’Not much can stop me.’’

That piqued Mick’s interest. ‘’What would stop ya?’’

That was difficult to answer, as he’d never stopped himself from going through with it for any reason. He always did it in the end, even if he was interrupted or made to delay his plans. ‘’Nothing.’’ He said. ‘’If I make plans, I go through with them no matter what happens.’’

‘’Hypothetically, roight, if ya were gonna kill someone and on your way up here, ya realise that ya really like that person, maybe ya could say that ya love ‘em, would ya still off ‘em?’’ Mick was adding layers, testing his conditions for what he did.

‘’And what have they done to me?’’ He continued, curious as to what the bushman could come up with.

‘’Say they knew about what ya get up ta, would ya go through with it? ‘Cause ya love ‘em, roight?’’

‘’I wouldn’t hesitate.’’ He said, allowing himself to be honest. There was no need to hide around Mick. ‘’Though I wouldn’t enjoy it, it would be necessary to protect myself… I would make an effort to make it quicker, less painful and ultimately a little more comfortable… but that would be all. It wouldn’t be the first time.’’

‘’Shit…’’ Mick paused in his effort to chop an onion to look at him with those sad puppy dog eyes that never seemed to leave. ‘’I’ve never had to off someone I actually loved b’fore.’’ The Australian admitted before slicing the onion in two.

‘’Perhaps you haven’t lived long enough.’’ Wren responded. ‘’You are still young, after all.’’

‘’Maybe. But surely if they really cared ‘bout ya, they would accept ya even if they knew?’’ He sounded so… naïve. The optimism gave away his inexperience. He sounded almost boyish with that imagination of his. It was almost cute.

‘’I’m afraid that’s a fairy-tale, Mick. Few can accept people like us, I’m afraid. The most natural response is to report something that is dangerous rather than to be in love with that threat, ja?’’

‘’Some aren’t natural, mate. I thought ya would’ve learned that by now.’’ He said softly, busy crushing garlic. Wren could see what he was implying. Or perhaps he was overthinking it. ‘’Some people like dangerous, y’know.’’

He thought to play this game of implications and suggestions, though he would take it a step further. He’d make it dirty. Provocative. ‘’Are you speaking for yourself?’’ He just adored the way his eyes lit up before desperately fading into faux indifference, pretending that he hadn’t reacted at all.

‘’No… Well, maybe. I don’t know.’’ Mick muttered. He didn’t sound at all confident. The lack of conviction ensured that he would fail to make his case.

‘’You don’t sound so sure, Mick.’’

He saw Mick stiffen at his tone. ‘’To be honest, I don’t know what I like in a person.’’ He shyly admitted, knife slicing through a freshly peeled sweet potato. He worked efficiently. His hand never faltering even as he talked.

‘’And you expect me to believe that?’’ He doubted this story and simultaneously believed it. He wanted to see how hard he could push this. He was very curious about this hermit of a man. ‘’I have my doubts, Mick.’’ That was a full lie, but with a careful inflection, it sounded truthful.

‘’I jus’… don’t have a lot of experience with people.’’ He added, clarifying his reasons. ‘’Y’know, my dad never used ta let me have people over. I couldn’t have mates ovah and god forbid I have a special someone here. Once I tried and I nevah heard tha end of it. I nevah really got to experiment and even though the house is empty I can’t seem ta… uhm…’’ He trailed off, talking faster and faster as he went along. ‘’I can’t get people to like me. I don’t know how ya bloody do it, but holy shit. Everyone runs away from me like I’m ill.’’ Mick was dicing them now, flawlessly even as he vocalised the voids in his life. ‘’I got nothin’. No-one would even notice if I fucked off somewhere, or even if I bloody offed meself.’’ He noticed his hands trembling as he spoke, the emotions overpowering his normally sturdy, stable grip. His voice was shaking in a frenzy of envy and fear and insecurity. He could see it crawling all over him, like spiders on his skin, making him quiver and shake and weakening his voice, meanwhile his accent grew stronger. ‘’Nobody gives a flyin’ fuck ‘bout me. I’m jus’… the local drongo that gives everyone tha bloody creeps. So no, I have no bloody clue what or who I like.’’

This was where Wren fell short. He wasn’t good with comforting and nurturing. He could play pretend like a good-natured nurse and sympathise with the sick but this was a different sort of sick. It wasn’t easily quelled with medication and a gentle smile. This sort of illness needed special attention, one that came from improvisation and a human understanding rather than a rehearsed performance. He took a breath and decided to step in before the other man broke down before his very eyes and fell apart like a neglected machine. ‘’What others think of you is irrelevant, Mick. If they don’t like you for what you are, they wouldn’t make good company. That’s my understanding, anyhow.’’

‘’Ya certainly don’t practice what you preach, then. People jus’ love you. You’re probably surrounded by friends. If they knew the real you, they’d run for the hills.’’

‘’Unfortunately, you’re right in that regard.’’ He said, agreeing. ‘’I may be sociable, but for that reason, I do not keep close company. I used to, but I found that I ended up slaughtering more than what I thought was convenient. You see, Mick. For people like us, it is difficult to trust and when that very scarce trust is given out and then broken, it is… messy. We are inclined to trust a little less and less each and every time it is broken until we stop altogether.’’

‘’People can flip loike a coin in a heartbeat. One moment you’re havin’ beers together the next they smash the bottle ovah your head ‘cause ya said somethin’ they didn’t loike.’’ Mick added, tossing the garlic and onion into a pan and lighting the stovetop with a lighter – the oven was terribly old fashioned. A relic from decades ago, most likely – he then stirred them with a wooden spoon. ‘’We used ta have a cleanah when my dad was still workin’ and one day she found somethin’ she shouldn’t have and that was the end’a that. She went wild on us, tried ta call tha coppahs and everythin’ but it was too late. Dad was there with a knoife and…’’ He used a finger to imitate the motion of slicing a neck.

‘’Oh, ja, ja. Its so fascinating how mankind is capable of turning on each other so rapidly.’’ He added, nodding in agreement. There were many instances of his partners – even the more respectful of them – choosing to nose around his house (or his bag) behind his back. He could never discern what their justification was. He assumed it to be paranoia or mere curiosity but either way, it was never appreciated by them or by himself. Few had the tenacity to break down the door of the locked room. But that rare sort of tenacity deserved fiery retribution in kind. ‘’I am not exempt, of course. I have my fair share of impulsive killings.’’ Mick scooped the vegetables into a tray to be roasted.

‘’Really? Ya don’t strike me as the impulsive type.’’ He said, eyes meeting his before he put the tray in the oven.

‘’It takes something particularly abhorrent to drive me to hurry my art.’’ He confessed, recalling a few instances of hasty stabbings, throat slits, smotherings and other simple, mundane and dreadfully dull methods of killing. He much preferred the stalking and slow death and his more creative methodologies of slaughtering his prey. Such tired techniques weren’t for him. He craved fun. Experimental designs and long games of cat and mouse that left him exhausted but very pleased with himself.

‘’Your _art_ , huh?’’ He scoffed in a manner more inquisitive than sceptical.

‘’Mhm… to end one’s life quickly is so terribly dull I can’t bear the thought.’’ He sighed melodramatically. ‘’I like to draw it out… make a game out of it. To get it over and done with as if it were a chore would be a waste of potential, would it not?’’

‘’The outcome is all the same whether ya do it in foive minutes or four days, mate.’’ Mick commented as he stirred the now spitting garlic and onion mix. ‘’But I can see where you’re comin’ from. I like the chase too.’’

‘’Ah, ‘the chase’…’’ He put up air quotes. ‘’That is a wonderful way to put it. Do you shadow your victims too?’’

Mick squinted for a moment, deciphering his meaning. ‘’I do for a tic. I like ta hide in the bush when I can, get tha jump on ‘em.’’ He put the raw heart pieces on the bench, near the pan.

‘’That isn’t much fun. It’s over too soon, is it not?’’

‘’Sorry to break it to ya but drawin’ it out is pointless. I’d rather just get it over and one with so I can get on with my day.’’

‘’While I understand your desire for convenience, I must advocate for the immense satisfaction at slaughtering a frightened sheep…’’ He counteracted his argument. While he imagined that Mick was not nearly as sadistic, he knew that he could understand how it felt to track an animal successfully and kill it while it quivered in fright. ‘’To instil feelings of paranoia in another and to make them fear you is unlike anything else, to pull at the strands of security and sanity until they unravel is simply splendid. The nervous looks over the shoulder and quick glances around the darkest corners transform into utter horror when the end comes. Palpable fear is something so… thrilling. To see your victims become so irrational, so frightened and so _vulnerable_ is something beyond satisfying.’’ There was an excitable flame in his tone, burning hotter and brighter with every word.

Mick glared at him like he’d insulted his mother. ‘’God, you can fuckin’ talk.’’ He groaned, shaking his head in disapproval.

‘’What I’m trying to say is that inspiring fear is simply exhilarating and can often prove advantageous. I’m certain you would agree if you shadowed your victims.’’

Mick came back at him with a counterargument. ‘’Wouldn’t paranoia help ‘em? They’d start lockin’ their doors and shit.’’ He sometimes forgot that it was commonplace for those in the country to leave their doors unlocked and windows open, as no one would bother to steal from an old country home. The sense of community was too strong. In the city, anonymity reigned free, encouraging thieving rats to steal everything and anything not nailed down.

‘’Surprisingly, no.’’ He replied, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. ‘’While yes, they do become more skittish, it more often than not proves to be beneficial. Worried individuals respond better to friendly faces than those who are locked into a state of calm and feelings of security. For instance, a lift home is more enticing than the thought of walking when a sinister presence can be felt lurking behind every dark corner. Fear forces them to break routine, to flee an invisible threat and in that sense, run into a dead end where I can catch them.’’

‘’I s’pose. But wouldn’t they fight back quickah when they’re scared?’’ He added, still playing devil’s advocate.

‘’Not if it comes as a surprise. It is difficult to fight against sedatives, may I add.’’

Mick looked at him, astounded. ‘’Ya use drugs on ‘em?’’

‘’Only if they pose a threat.’’ He added. ‘’I prefer to do the dirty work myself, but if my soon to be victim is especially strong or if they are armed, I like to keep myself safe.’’

‘’I see.’’ Mick said, sounding a little disappointed but seeming to understand. ‘’Roight, be quiet for a tic. I gotta concentrate. These cook real fuckin’ fast.’’ He said, tongs in hand.

‘’Should I continue just to sabotage our lunch?’’ He teased.

‘’No. Shut up.’’ Mick replied quickly. He placed piece after piece onto the heated pan and after less than a minute each, he flipped them over. The dark flesh began to look cooked in mere seconds and before long, the Australian was hastily putting the now cooked pieces onto a plate before they burned. He was true to his word. It was astonishing how fast he worked. He appeared experienced. Focused. Like a chef, almost. He let out a long exhale in relief when all the meaty chunks were off the pan and resting on the plate. ‘’Thank fuck that’s over.’’ Mick added, wiping the sweat from his brow. He looked to the plate and a prideful smirk came onto his lips. He picked a bit up with his fingers and showed Wren. ‘’This one here is perfect.’’ He offered it to Wren. ‘’Open up.’’

Wren was tempted to make a snarky remark but didn’t bother in favour of trying the delectable treat in front of him. He opened his mouth and promptly felt fingers brush against his lip as he was fed. It was certainly a kind gesture. He was near overwhelmed by the pleasant flavours. It tasted homely and rich. He liked the unpretentious nature of it. It was simple but seasoned perfectly. It felt like a family recipe, almost. In that it reflected passion. The fact that he was feasting on something ripped from a fellow human only added to his excitement. He was already longing for another when he swallowed. ‘’Mmm, that’s delicious. Gott, I don’t know how you manage to cook like that…’’ He lauded. ‘’It’s certainly better than anything I could do.’’

‘’Bloody hell, that good, huh?’’ Mick cooed. ‘’I didn’t think you’d admit that I’m a better cook.’’ A playful smile had spread on his lips.

‘’That’s a little premature, Mick. I haven’t made my mind up just yet. We’ll have to see after we eat, won’t we?’’ He taunted the man with sly words.

‘’There it is, talkin’ like proudcock again I see.’’ He mocked with words but couldn’t seem to mock him with his eyes. It was difficult to take the insult at face value when Mick couldn’t even meet his gaze.

‘’You talk as if you don’t like it.’’ He scoffed. ‘’From my experience, at least, confidence is seen as an attractive trait.’’

‘’Ya keep tellin’ yourself that.’’ Mick grumbled, now busy taking the vegetables out of the oven. He used a dirty dishcloth to grab it safely, much to Wren’s displeasure. ‘’And there we are… Beautiful.’’ He exclaimed excitedly. He fetched two plates – like everything else in the house, they were bordering on broken and defunct. There were chips on the edges and the surface was littered with scratches. He wouldn’t complain as the wonderful scents of the coming meal overtook any semblance of repulsion at the state of the tableware. Mick served the food and looked out the window, then back to him. ‘’Do ya wanna sit outside? The sun’s out.’’

‘’Please. Anything to get out of this old house.’’

Mick said nothing to the blatant insult he had hurled towards his house. He took their plates with the grace of a waiter and managed to open the door with the crook of his elbow whilst keeping the plates balanced. He held the door open with his body. ‘’Ladies first,’’ He chuckled.

‘’Such a gentleman.’’ He snickered, sarcasm poisoning his tone.

Mick followed him out and Wren sat on the doorstep in front of the house that overlooked the bush. The chickens began to trot towards him, curious about his foreign presence. ‘’Ah, don’t worry about ‘em. They might have a nibble at what ya have but they won’t be rude ‘bout it.’’ Mick handed him his plate along with his cutlery.

‘’The thought of salmonella does not reassure me, Mick.’’ Wren replied, looking to the filthy poultry before him, their wide, brown eyes staring daggers into his meal.

Mick sat down beside him. They were shoulder to shoulder, nearly bumping elbows as they ate. ‘’Pah, I’ve never gotten it from ‘em.’’ Mick dismissed his concerns and instead, gave a roast bit of broccoli to an eager chicken. The bird swallowed it whole, an impressive feat considering that the piece was about twice the size of its beak. ‘’I cuddle and kiss ‘em and I never get sick.’’

He snarled in disgust. ‘’Ugh, remind me not to kiss you.’’ He was falling back into his habits, crawling back into his comfortable space of flirtatiousness and cordiality, where nothing could hurt him. Perhaps it was wrong to tease and play with Mick as if he were any other man, but why did it matter? It was mere fun. It was in his nature to toy with other men, to step over boundaries and in turn, destroy them to allow something greater to flourish like verdant blooms after a deathly winter.

There was a silence between them, typical for a good meal. One couldn’t appreciate exquisite flavours with a flapping tongue and busy mind. He was hardly bothered by the bumping of elbows and the closeness he would have found to be unpleasant in any other circumstance. The midday heat was not at all sweltering and he found the warmth to be rather comforting. The sun combined with the outdoors seemed to make Mick’s vibrant emerald coloured eyes somehow even more vivid.

‘’You have beautiful eyes.’’ He said, thinking aloud.

‘’Thanks, I s’pose.’’ Mick looked to him and swallowed a mouthful of food before continuing. A fly buzzed onto his plate and faster than a hawk scooping up a rat, he crushed it.

‘’Remind me not to mess with you.’’ Wren said, astounded. ‘’With a reaction time like that… gott, it frightens me.’’

‘’I don’t think you will need many reminders.’’ Mick added, sipping at his drink.

‘’I’ll drink to that.’’ Wren chuckled, taking a hefty portion, nearly downing his beer in one go.

One of the bushman’s chickens waddled up to him, begging for food. ‘’Aight, aight. Here ya are, luv.’’ He handed the bird a chunk of a vegetable. The greedy creature swallowed it whole.

He watched an oversized lump of cauliflower go down its throat and he had to resist the impulse to retch. ‘’It’s sickening… how can it do that without choking?’’ He howled in disgust.

‘’Well, she’s gotta make sure the other girls won’t get it somehow… Isn’t that roight, luv?’’ He cooed affectionately whilst ruffling the feathers on its head.

‘’Do you feed your victims to these birds?’’ He asked. He thought that birds with such ravenous appetites would eat just about anything but he was curious nonetheless.

‘’Only sometimes. Usually when there’s too much for me ta eat on my own.’’

‘’Do they like it?’’

‘’Yeah. They go wild for it. If they see me carryin’ it, they’ll jump up to snatch it from my hands. They don’t do that sort’a stuff for anythin’ else.’’ He chuckled to himself, sounding almost proud of the fact. ‘’Y’know, they never used to love it that much. The first time I dished it up for ‘em they jus’ looked at it loike ’what tha fuck is this?’ but now they love it.’’

‘’Hm, maybe you see yourself in these ugly little things.’’ He mused. Mick gave him an offended but inquisitive look. ‘’I meant in how your attitude towards what you do has changed over time. I imagine one doesn’t begin life as an eager connoisseur of to put it nicely… more exotic meats.’’

‘’You’re not wrong there, mate.’’ Mick admitted. His eyes darted around the bush as if to check for eavesdroppers before he continued. ‘’I didn’t know until I was about a teenager.’’

‘’Who cooked for you?’’ He could feel his heart in his chest, beating rapidly with excitement. He’d been curious about the root of it all and to finally get some sort of suggestion into where this intriguing monster of a man came to be nearly took his breath away.

‘’My dad used ta. He used ta cook and butcher.’’ Mick muttered, closing his eyes as if to recall a vivid image of a day long since passed in his mind.

‘’Did he ever tell you what he was preparing?’’ He had to contain his excitement, lock it away somewhere where it couldn’t affect his posture or his voice. He needed to sound curious if not monotone and considerate rather than someone utterly mesmerised by an anomaly.

‘’No. He never said a word ‘bout it…’’ Mick said, eyes meeting for the briefest of moments before shifting back to his plate. ‘’He’d lie ta me of course, tell me it was beef or pork or somethin’ loike that. But I think by the end, he knew that I knew.’’ He seemed to sadden as he went along. The memories once forced into dark recesses were emerging and overpowering the bushman’s normally laid-back composure.

‘’How did you find out?’’ Upon asking, Mick bit his lip. Not hard by any means but enough to indicate that the memory was still fresh and likely just as painful as it had been.

‘’It wasn’t hard, y’know. I jus’ watched my dad drag a body to his shed – I think he’d killed someone from town – and I saw him cuttin’ the meat out and gettin’ the guts out and all the rest of it through a crack in the door. From then on, I jus’ sorta… knew.’’ He said, letting out a sigh of relief. This unfortunate tale had likely been lingering in his mind, refusing to leave until it had been told. He believed this story, though it was rather outlandish to think about.

‘’Did it bother you at the time? I imagine it would have been devastating to think that the man you looked up to was… not as righteous and morally bound as you perceived him to be.’’

‘’It was, yeah. At first I wasn’t sure what to do, so I protested it without sayin’ that I knew but eventually… I… I gave up. I couldn’t do it any more and I jus’… went on like I did. It was silly of me to be so concerned about it. At the end’a the day it’s jus’… food.’’ He saw as those teeth of his broke the flesh of his lip, making it bleed. This was always difficult for Wren. The sight of blood made it nearly impossible to concentrate, as the seductive, perfect flow tended to entrance him. Here was no exception. Mick’s voice pulled him out of it. ‘’And even when I was protestin’ it, I wasn’t sure why I was doin’ it. I liked the meat and my dad’s cookin’ and in truth I didn’t really mind that he was killin’ folk. I jus’ stopped because I’d been taught that it was wrong by people I couldn’t really give a shit about. I listened to them over what my old man would’a wanted for me.’’

He could hardly pay attention to what the Australian was saying with full view of the blood so close and yet so far from his reach. He knew he wanted it. He wanted on his body and in his mouth but he couldn’t have it. It wasn’t for him to take. ‘’You don’t believe that it’s wrong?’’ He asked, finally finding his words in the mess of confusing, impure feelings.

‘’Maybe, but I don’t care. It makes me happy and that’s all I care about. He said, shrugging. Those envy green eyes darted to Wren’s plate and a sly, prideful smirk spread on his lips. ‘’Apparently it makes ya happy as well. You’ve nearly eaten it all.’’

‘’That and you’re a good cook.’’ He complimented the bushman, seeing that he deserved it at this point.

‘’Better than you?’’ Mick prodded, digging an elbow into his side to prompt a response.

Wren swallowed his pride. ‘’Yes.’’

‘’Look at that. So good that you jus’ had to admit it.’’

He took another forkful, effectively finishing his meal and saving himself the trouble of having to respond to that. He set his plate aside and the chickens dashed over to it before rapidly pecking the leftover crumbs. Before he could even think of shooing them away, they had eaten the scraps. Mick finished off his food and willingly gave up his scraps by scraping them off with a fork onto the ground for the birds to eat.

Mick looked to the bush for a moment and his eyes lit up with a revelation. ‘’I know they say ya shouldn’t swim straight after eatin’, but there’s a creek only a short walk from here. It’s nice and warm still so maybe we could go swimmin’ or somethin’ loike that.

Wren looked at him confusedly for a moment. ‘’You… want to go _swimming?_ Now?’’ 

‘’Of course. There’s nothin’ better to do on a hot day.’’

‘’I didn’t bring anything to swim in.’’ Wren retorted. Though the thought of cool water with the sun on his skin was definitely appealing, there were a few holes in this idea.

‘’Neither did I.’’ Mick said.

‘’I don’t even have a change of clothes,’’ Wren continued.

‘’So what?’’

‘’I can’t exactly get these wet.’’

‘’Who said ya have ta get in the water fully dressed?’’ Mick caught him there. ‘’Do ya wanna go or not?’’

‘’I would love to.’’ 

Mick stacked their plates and rose to his feet, not bothering to put them inside for the moment. He licked his drying lips and Wren felt a strong pang of envy. ‘’Don’t dilly-dally then and get movin’.’’

‘’You’re like an excitable child… All rush-rush when it comes to swimming.’’ He muttered mostly to himself. He caught up to Mick, who had wandered out towards what could be called his backyard. It was clear with the exception of a dead, enormous tree with a hollow in the middle. The grass that grew here was prickly and ugly and in the corners, disturbingly large ant nests grew beyond what one could call natural. Lining the property was a short, wooden fence lined with wires.

Mick climbed over the fence in a surprisingly nimble motion. Wren followed him ungracefully, nearly tripping over himself on the way down. ‘’Careful, gramps, ya might break your hip.’’ The Australian snickered.

Wren couldn’t share his amusement. ‘’Just know that I very well could break yours.’’

‘’Yeah, yeah.’’ Mick sighed, sceptical of that.

Now that they were over the barrier between bushland and farmland, the endemic plants reigned supreme. The trees grew densely with shy shrubs underneath, clutching the trees close as if to hide from the sun. The dirt was noticeably redder, nearly coppery in colour. Some of the trees were charred black up to the midsection, where new shoots were growing. The grass trees appeared to be magnificent compared to the piddly little ones they had in the city. The leaf litter was thick under his boot. ‘’Dense wilderness like this never ceases to make me nostalgic…’’ He said, the scent of sap and eucalyptus saturating his senses.

‘’Why? Did ya kill your first one in a gum tree or somethin’?’’ He said, gesturing to a pale tree with peeling bark.

‘’Close, but not quite.’’ He still remembered that foggy, icy morning back home. He’d come with little more than a knife and gloves, but it had been more than enough. He’d still been in school then, he’d been young, studious and still blind to what he was. He’d always had the urge, lingering just under the surface like a parasite, unseen to the naked eye. It felt as if it were in his blood, coursing through him unbeknownst to him like an infection. That first time, the urge had overwhelmed him and he’d succumbed to it. ‘’My first victim was a boy my age – mind this was about twenty years ago – who I deemed a severe inconvenience. I ended up hanging him from a tree out in the wilderness.’’ He remembered checking the newspapers frequently at the time, worried sick about getting caught. Of course, nothing ever came up. By now, only bones would remain, if not shards of bones. ‘’I don’t believe anyone found the body, now that I think about it.’’

‘’Why was he a ‘inconvenience’? What did he do? Nick your bloody lipstick?’’

‘’It isn’t lipstick and you know that—but no, I am not that petty. It was a messier situation. He found letters a boyfriend had sent to me. He lived a fair distance away and so it was commonplace for us to send letters, but that is beside my point. My parents forbade me from having any sort of intimacy with other men but as you can imagine, their rules never stopped me. If anything, the thought of rebellion encouraged me. This rat of a person threatened to show my parents if I didn’t pay up.’’

‘’You paid up alright, huh?’’ Mick mused.

‘’Ja. That boy did that often. He liked to weasel his way to money. Unfortunately for him, students are not particularly wealthy. I paid through other means.’’

‘’How did it feel to do it for the first time?’’ Mick said, lifting a branch and holding it up to let him move past.

‘’It was incredible, in retrospect. I was terrified of being caught at the time but after the fact it felt as if I had… liberated myself. For the first time I had embraced this dark part of me with open arms. As long as I can remember I’ve had the irresistible urge to kill interlopers, interferers and hindrances. And when I finally acted upon that impulse… it was unbelievable. I can’t even begin to describe the intoxicating high.’’

Mick dropped the branch after he went through and walked up to his side. ‘’So it was a good experience for ya?’’ There was something of a path here. The landscape was beginning to look less dry, less parched and scruffy. They were greener, lusher and all around prettier. He assumed they were getting closer to the creek.

‘’Oh, ja, ja. Very much so.’’ He replied. Mick’s scowl at the thought of his first blood piqued his curiosity. ‘’Unlike you, I was taught to hide myself using any tactic possible and to unburden myself from that was beyond relieving.’’

‘’Are ya still hidin’ roight now?’’ He hadn’t been expecting that sort of question. It left him stunned, mouth agape and lashes fluttering in confusion. He couldn’t come up with an answer. It was unknown to even himself. Was he still pretending even in the company of someone like him? It was entirely possible. It was habitual for him to do so. Only when he was alone did he allow himself to think and act without fake kindness and compassion. In isolation he allowed the dark thoughts to fester and thrive, in all other situations he stifled them.

‘’In all honesty,’’ He began, his words coming out as a near stammer as he spoke them. ‘’I may be. Though to a lesser extent.’’

Mick looked at him blankly for a moment, processing the information. He nodded sombrely. ‘’Well… admittin’ ya have a problem is the first step ta fixin’ it, roight?’’

‘’It’s not a problem.’’

‘’It is if you cant be honest with me.’’ Mick stopped in his tracks, putting all conscious effort into this conversation. ‘’Roight, when you’re alone and nobody is watchin’, doesn’t it feel good ta be yourself?’’

‘’Yes, of course it does.’’ He said, rolling his eyes.

Wren approached the shorter bushman and he saw those eyes dart to his hands, as if Mick wanted to hold them. He didn’t dare. ‘’Imagine, roight, if ya could let go with me. Wouldn’t that be nice? Ya could stop actin’ for a while and have a laugh and express yourself and all the rest of it.’’ Wren used silence as a response. ‘’Close your eyes.’’

‘’Why?’’ It seemed ridiculous.

‘’Jus’ close ‘em.’’ He wasn’t firm or commanding by any means, more soft and gentle. Like a kind request. He caved in with a small, indignant groan and closed his eyes. The void smothered the vision in both his eyes now and he was left in the dark. He despised this darkness. Without the light, nightmares could flourish and grow like mould. His fears grew without the promise of light and safety. When blind, one was vulnerable. ‘’Now imagine lettin’ go for me. Entirely.’’ Wren forced himself to do so, albeit in a more idealised manner than he had intended. And even he could admit that the concept was beautifully saccharine, like a sweet dream that could come true. He thought of breaking free, how much better it would be to shed the artificial skin of someone else and to embrace the corruption, depravity and perverse aspects of his being. The possibility of doing anything he wanted – no matter how vile such things were – with this man was certainly alluring. ‘’Surely ya can see that its better, yeah? Ya could quit the prissy, pretty boy exterior and—‘’

‘’I’ll have you know I am ‘prissy’ by nature.’’ Wren retorted, opening his eyes to shoot him a glare.

‘’Oh. Well, fuck.’’ Mick grumbled, nearly breaking out into a laugh. ‘’Well, what I’m tryin’ ta say is that ya could… go a little feral with me. I think it’d be good for ya.’’ The request sounded shy but sweet, like an invitation to a ball.

‘’We’ll see.’’ Mick walked up ahead and Wren tailed behind. They walked in silence for a while with the crunch of leaf litter punctuating each step and the mocking laughter of birds. Eventually, Mick stopped and turned to him with a rare, giddy, crooked smile.

‘’There we are… Look at that.’’ He let out an impressed whistle. Wren joined his side and it felt as if he were staring at a pretty photograph one would put on a postcard. Mossy rocks lined the sandy bank, with small reeds and shrubs growing by the clear water. The trees were lusher here, with moss and lichen growing on the bark. Driftwood littered the surprisingly large body of water. He could see a few rocks sticking out in the sand, glistening with wetness in the sun. ‘’Beautiful, yeah?’’

‘’Stunning.’’ He said, looking to the stream that let a trickle of water down into the creek. ‘’Goodness, It’s like a photograph.’’

‘’Why do ya think I suggested it?’’ The bushman mocked. ‘’If it were an ugly dump I wouldn’t’ve said anythin’, would I?’’

‘’Someone has an attitude under all of those nerves.’’ Wren mocked in kind.

‘’Shut ya mouth or I’ll shove ya in the water and ruin your fuckin’ shirt.’’ The younger man barked. It was a functional threat.

‘’It won’t matter if there’s nothing to ruin.’’ Wren said in a sing-song voice. He started on unbuttoning his shirt and shot a haughty glance at Mick. He stuck his tongue out for good measure. Mick looked away respectfully.

‘’Ya bloody devil!’’ He grumbled.

As he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders and put it on a nearby rock, he could feel eyes on his back the moment he turned around. He knew it was more than an inkling. He was used to this sort of treatment, particularly from his partners. Men like him tended to gawk. It was only natural. He did it too, though he was more subtle about it. He snuck glances and curious peeks, but never outright stared for this exact reason. He hoped that the bushman was merely admiring rather than scrutinising every flaw. He worked at his belt and dumped it on the ground. He could still sense that he was being ogled as if he were some sort of colourful bird, so he deliberately made the undressing process elaborate and ostentatious to make the most of this newfound attention. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. Attention like this was always welcome. He kicked off his boots and socks as well as his slacks in the most elegant way he could muster. Last to come off were his glasses, which he placed carefully on the pile of clothes.

He turned and approached Mick, who immediately pretended he hadn’t been looking. It was charmingly unsubtle and the redness on his cheeks even more so. ‘’Are you swimming with all that on?’’ He teased, playing on the fact that the Australian had been so distracted.

‘’Ye—I mean, no.’’ He mustered, hands going for the bottom of his shirt to lift it.

‘’Well, I’m getting a head start before you push me in.’’ Wren said, walking on ahead to the water. He stepped in up to his ankles. It was pleasantly cool and the deeper parts only seemed to go up to his chest. He walked in, minding his step as not to trip over any submerged rocks or branches. ‘’Hurry up, Mick!’’ He yelled, catching the man’s attention immediately.

‘’It aint a contest!’’ He yelled back in the midst of tugging his jeans off. The bushman undressed faster than he did, albeit ungracefully and inelegantly. However, the lack of care was charming in its own right. He tossed all his clothes aside on a nearby bush and practically leapt into the water, splashing him in the process. He rose up, absolutely soaked. He wiped the water from his face and moved his hair out of his face. ‘’Gotcha.’’ He announced with a disproportionate amount of pride.

‘’You’re lucky you didn’t dive straight into a rock.’’ Wren commented, looking to the dark, jagged edge of a stone.

‘’Pah, I go swimmin’ here all the time. I know where the rocks are.’’ His eyes darted around, as if to highlight the location of the stones in the water. He stretched out, groaning with satisfaction. Wren took this opportunity to do some ogling of his own. The bushman’s skin was sun kissed and spotted with a galaxy of freckles. He was lean in figure and attractively slim, with the shapes of his bones visible on his back. Wren enjoyed smaller men, he liked the gratification of pinning them and the feel of their delicate, vixenish bodies against his own. He was hairy, but not overly so. Dark curls covered his chest and shyly trailed down to his stomach and thinning further from there. He imagined those pert nipples of his to be remarkably sensitive. But he caught himself there, forcing his mind to stop. He was on his best behaviour here.

‘’Mick, you never told me about _your_ first blood.’’ He said, idly swooshing water with his hand. The sound never ceased to be satisfying.

‘’I guess I got distracted by this beaut.’’ He opened his arms out wide, as if to show off the expanse of lush land.

‘’It’s difficult not to be.’’ He added, eyes drifting to the tranquil scene all around him.

‘’I mean, it’s a bit of’a tale so get your listenin’ ears on.’’ Mick sat on a fallen branch, facing him. ‘’And maybe some tissues, ‘cause it’s a shitty story.’’

‘’We don’t have any tissues.’’

‘’Figure’a speech.’’ He chewed his lip. A river of crimson flowed, though, it was diluted this time from the water on his face. It came out as thin, pink trickles down his chin. ‘’Anyway… I guess I’ll start from the beginnin’.’’ He itched at his neck, visibly nervous. ‘’I was uhm… I was pretty close to my dad. We were mates and everythin’ though it was a bit rocky at times. I loved him so much ‘cause I didn’t have anyone else.’’ He looked down, into the water as if to avoid his gaze. ‘’I don’t remember her, my mum, I mean.’’ He mustered, opening a door to a conversation he had been anticipating but he had not been ready for. He felt the grief from what was to come enter through the open door, its looming presence hovering over their peaceful outing like a shadow. ‘’She left us when I was very little, y’see. I only have fuzzy memories of her. I don’t remember her face.’’

‘’I’m sorry to hear that.’’ The words sounded artificial even as he spoke them. No tone or inflection could ever breathe life into false empathy. But here, he’d botched the delivery. He may as well have forgotten his line in the midst of a performance. Perhaps that would have been for the better. ‘’Mein beileid.’’ He murmured, softer this time. Sweeter. It was always easier in his native tongue. Easier to talk. Easier to perfect his delivery. It was more natural. Mindless, almost.

Mick paused. Wren knew that the bushman had noticed him pretending. Perhaps he understood that empathy was near impossible for people like him. Or maybe, he merely needed a moment to think or to recollect himself. It was difficult to tell with a man like Mick. He had a powerful sort of inscrutability. ‘’I got her spindly physique, her smile, her eyes, her ears… I got jus’ about everythin’. My dad always used ta say that I reminded him of her. It… It always used ta make him so miserable, to see me growin’ into a reminder of ‘er…‘’ He stopped in his tracks, blinking a few times as if processing the information. ‘’I uh, jus’ realised I don’t know why I’m unloading all this shit onto ya. Maybe this is why you’re so good at killin’ folks, they jus’… trust ya. You’ve got me to… disarm myself like ya do with everyone else. Next minute you’ll have me by the back’a the head, drownin’ me or some shit.’’

‘’No, no, I wouldn’t do that to you.’’ He said, allowing honesty to flourish. It would be a waste to destroy someone who shared his temperament. ‘’Keep going. I don’t mind. It seems that this has been a long time coming for you.’’ Wren understood trust to be an invaluable thing. Trust was the key factor in whether or not a relationship – platonic or otherwise – succeeded. Confidence in one another and openness worked hand in hand to promote unconditional love. Love in which Wren thrived upon like rats feeding on a fresh corpse. It was an incredibly useful tool. Despite his encouragement, Mick stopped entirely. He left this new leaf to die. Wren wondered if he had been to bold, pushed too hard and been too indelicate with this sensitive, sore spot of grief and long-lasting misery. He decided to nurture the wilting openness, to provide a bit of love of his own. ‘’It’s alright, Mick. We can be transparent with one another, can’t we? I won’t think any less of you. We all have painful memories and sharing can… help to heal the wounds so to speak.’’ Wren wouldn’t mind telling a few sob stories of his own, few got to hear the truthful versions, where they hadn’t been distorted to ensure certain aspects were exempt. 

Mick succumbed to his desire to unbottle. ‘’Okay. Jus’… Don’t tell anyone I got all touchy-feely with ya.’’

‘’Trust me, these lips are sealed.’’ Wren had kept countless secrets over his life. This would be an addition to his hoard.

‘’So… my dad got worse over time. I don’t know what was happenin’, he got obsessed with ‘er, got a little crazy, he thought she’d come back. I don’t know when he started killin’ folk. I think he started eatin’ ‘em to get rid’a the evidence. And it also solved puttin’ food on the table. He used to do it when he was miserable, when he needed a distraction.’’ He looked to Wren, finally meeting his eyes. He was gathering his bravery, growing stronger with every word. ‘’He was like you in a way. He could always smile and laugh even when he wanted nothin’ more than to kill someone or to keel ovah and cry.’’ He gathered his composure and refocused.

‘’Did he ever take you out for killings?’’ Wren asked, curious. It would be a strange father-son activity but it was certainly within the realm of possibilities.

‘’No. Never.’’ Mick shook his head. ‘’My first time was later, after he…’’ Mick’s lips turned down in a frown. ‘’…After he kicked the bucket.’’ That was peculiar. Wren would have thought that the bushman’s rigid method of hunting and butchering would be more of a indoctrinated behaviour since childhood rather than a spontaneous choice in his adult life. He wondered if Mick shared the same urges. ‘’I was grievin’, y’know, as ya do.’’ He chuckled, his voice cracking with coming tears. Wren was beginning to panic from the inside. Comforting another was difficult for him. But he would try regardless, even if he failed miserably. ‘’And I was very angry. The world had taken the only bloke who gave two flyin’ fucks ‘bout me away from me. It was a very bad time for me. I don’t remember half of what I did but I became a bit of a cockhead. I started smashin’ shit ‘round town. I started drinkin’ more than my fill. I started hurtin’ wildlife because I couldn’t cope with it. And eventually, I jus’ sorta snapped. I don’t even remember why but this shila knocked on my door askin’ ‘bout somethin’ or rather and before I could even think ‘bout it I grabbed her by the hair and shoved my knife in her guts.’’

‘’It was an act of passion.’’ Wren said, imagining the scene the Australian had vocalised.

‘’I was terrified at the time. I wasn’t sure what to do.’’ His voice broke as the memories became too painful to bear. ‘’So y’know what I did?’’

‘’You butchered her?’’

‘’I did. It was messy and not very efficient but I did it.’’ He said, sounding almost proud. ‘’Later on I cooked it up and I remembered how for the first time for that whole year I’d felt at home. I felt good. I felt like I was happy again and alive.’’ He wiped his eyes. ‘’I felt like I was with my dad in a way and—‘’ He broke down entirely, he came undone at the seams, breaking down into a sobbing mess of broken, torn threads. Wren needed a moment. Others would hold him, tell him it was okay and provide the opportunity to weep. So he did just that. He approached Mick and put his arms around the smaller man. A shudder reverberated at his touch, but the bushman leaned into the embrace, welcoming the comfort. ‘’T-Turns out I needed the tissues, eh?’’ He whimpered.

‘’Mhm...’’ He wasn’t sure what to say. He could feel each and every shuddery, weak breath on his shoulder, feel every tear splash on him when it grew too heavy and spilled down the other man’s cheeks. It was so strange. He couldn’t understand it. All the hurting and suffering was coming out of him, like a wet towel being wrung out of all of its misery. And to think all it took was an open mind and a willingness to listen to unlock this void of repressed emotion. He wondered how long it had all been building, how long this man had been alone, how long he had held onto all this grief waiting to let it go in the company of another. He heard an ugly gasp that accompanied the little sobs. His discomfort only grew. ‘’It’s alright, Mick.’’ He said, saturating his tone with an overwhelming sweetness. He made it honeylike, designed to soothe pain. ‘’Es ist in ordnung.’’ He mumbled softly as he wiped a tear for the other man. ‘’Ich bin für dich da.’’

‘’I can’t… I don’t understand that… y’know that, r-roight?’’ His broken voice responded. ‘’Though… It sounds pretty…’’ He let a hand wander to the Australian’s umber hair, he felt guilty for doing so. He chose to overstep that boundary in favour of offering some sort of comfort. The other man let out little hiccups as he wept and his breaths slowly eased. They grew deeper, calmer. The tears slowed. His breath hitched again and agonized, tormented words escaped him. ‘’Everyone that ever gets this close ta me leaves me.’’ He began, his voice still shallow and shaky. ‘’Promise ya won’t leave me, Wren.’’ He was begging, snuggling closer as if to incline him to say yes.

He was hesitant. Promises like these were difficult to keep.

‘’Promise me, Wren.’’ He looked up when he said it, his eyes pink with the remnants of tears and pupils wide. ‘’I don’t want ya to go like the rest of ‘em.’’

‘’I won’t leave you.’’ He replied, softening his voice and sweetening his words. Wren punctuated his answer with a fleeting kiss to the other man’s forehead. He knew he had overstepped too many boundaries to turn back. It felt good to do so. Genuine affection was something he rarely gave. Here, it felt deserved, as if it were needed. ‘’I promise.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will he regret making that promise? Maybe.  
> But its sweet, eh? 
> 
> The gay undertones in this part were so strong they should have been overtones lol
> 
> Mick needs a hug.
> 
> Also, this (play)date isn't over yet. The next chapter will continue it. :)
> 
> I hope you guys don't mind the slower pace of the story. I really want to take my time with this one, because in all honesty, I'm beginning to feel like this is my best, most solid work. I hope none of you are bored out of your brains because there's no smut yet (and not a lot happening in terms of plot) - don't worry, it's gonna happen, I just need the perfect moment to kick it off. A lot of this chapter was creating a dynamic and sowing the seeds for the plot.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are a lot of cuddles and excitement  
> surprise! This little gatho isn't over yet. I said there would be two parts but there's actually more! hahahahahaha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect edits!
> 
> Also, constructive criticism is always welcome here. Any feedback helps me to improve <3

Mick had never broken down like that before.

He knew that to be a fact. He hadn’t sobbed and cried and wailed in front of anyone before. Normally, only the walls of his bedroom heard him weep. But another person had listened and bothered to offer him a shoulder to cry on. It had warmed his heart to be held and coddled. It had eased him. He imagined little chicks felt the same when they snuggled up to their momma hen. Mick hadn’t intended to get so touchy-feely and emotional with the bloke but it just poured out of him as if someone had turned on the tap. For a while, he’d been lost in the sensation of letting the tears flow and the feel of someone else so close to him. And as the minutes passed, he began to forget where he was and even the reason he was so upset in favour of feeling every breath, every touch and taking in every sweet word whispered in his ears.

As the sky turned orange and pink, Wren coaxed him out of the soothing, refreshing waters of the creek in order to get home before dark. At first, he’d protested the idea of breaking free of that loving embrace, but the promise of a cold one and a heated fireplace convinced him to leave this little slice of paradise. After dressing again, the walk back home was quiet, though it was the peaceful sort of quiet, like the stillness that came after a raging bushfire. It was getting cold, now. The sun was going down and the evening chill was creeping in, seeping into his flesh and bones.

The path soon became familiar as they got closer to home. It was unusual for Wren to be this quiet, normally he was spouting strings of pretentious, airy-fairy bullshit to communicate ideas that could be brought across in three words or less. But he liked listening to him talk. He had a fascinating voice, the type that could entrance a person. The accent tended to twist the sounds of words in such a way that they sounded prettier, pleasant and somehow soothing. The harsh, loud and frustratingly proud vowels of his own dialect could never do the same thing.

He opened the door and looked to Wren, who’s gaze was directed upward, towards the sky. ‘’Ya aight, Wren?’’ He asked, voice still a touch raw.

‘’Hm?’’ He’d been in thought. ‘’Oh, I’m fine.’’

‘’Off with the fairies, I see.’’ Mick scolded him.

‘’Longer walks tend to do that to me.’’ His apparent calm was dissipated the moment he went inside. He cried out in a mix of frustration, pain and annoyance. ‘’Goodness, it’s colder in here than it is outside!’’ He clutched himself tightly as if to stave off the cold. Mick loved the outback, but his biggest complaint was how all the heat disappeared the moment the sun went down.

‘’Yeah, get used ta that.’’ He said, knocking on a wooden pillar. ‘’These old walls aren’t great at holdin’ the heat. It’s worse in winter, trust me.’’

‘’Ugh, I can imagine it.’’ Wren grumbled. The older man walked over to the fireplace, looking to the dying flame. ‘’Please, stoke the flames. I would rather not freeze to death in here.’’ He swore he could hear the chatter of teeth.

‘’Yeah, yeah. Will do, bossyboots.’’ He said, feeling gooseflesh prickle up on his skin. The chill was eating into him. He gathered up some old newspapers and a fresh log and shoved them behind the glass walls. The fire gobbled up the paper like a starved animal and grew to a monstrous size.

‘’Ahh, that is _so_ much better…’’ Wren sighed, holding his hands by the fire to warm them. However, he was still shivering.

Mick went to the fridge and nicked two cans. He handed one to Wren. ‘’So, what do ya wanna do now?’’

‘’I thought you would have made some plans.’’ He said, avoiding the question.

‘’I thought ya would’ve gone home by now. But don’t think I’m complainin’. It’s jus’ you normally have good reason ta not hang ‘round people like me.’’

Wren scoffed at his wording. ‘’’People like you’.’’ He said, a smug smile lingering on his face. ‘’What’s that supposed to mean?’’

‘’Grotty drongos is what I mean.’’

‘’Unlike what you seem to think, I don’t consider myself to be above ‘grotty’ men.’’ He sipped at his beer as if it were wine. Somehow, he did it with poise. ‘’In fact, I quite enjoy their company. I find the more… regal and well-mannered types to be a bore. Men like you know how to have _fun_.’’

‘’Bullshit, I don’t know the first thing ‘bout that.’’ Mick barked back.

Wren had the perfect counterpoint that made his statement worthless. ‘’If that were true, I would have gone home already, bored out of my mind.’’ He cocked his thumb toward the door to further make his case. ‘’You’re entertaining when you try to be, Mick.’’ A hand was on his shoulder in a blink and he flinched in fright. He liked being touched but it had become so foreign to him that he couldn’t help but get startled by it. ‘’So do your job as a host and entertain your guest, yes?’’

‘’You’re fed and warm, I think ya should quit bitchin’.’’ He meant it in a playful way.

‘’But I’m bored…’’ He sighed like a bratty child. Then, his eyes lit up with an idea. ‘’Oh! Why don’t you show me your… _collection_?’’ The way he purred out the word sent chills through him that were far colder than the ones from outside. The chills tickled the deepest parts of him. He even felt it through his spine, like imaginary fingers trailing down the entirety of it. But once that sensation faded, he was overwhelmed by his own excitement. He’d longed for an opportunity like this, to show off his trophies and all the things he’d taken from his victims.

‘’I’ve been waitin’ for ya ta ask!’’ He said, just about bouncing up and down with elation. ‘’Jus’ a tic.’’ He said, raising a finger as he went to the kitchen. He crouched and opened up the drawers. He found the little box he kept his small hoard of treasures in, took it out and returned with a giddy smile on his face. Wren’s demeanour changed when he saw it, it was like seeing a dog wag its tail. He looked at it with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

‘’It makes me think of a treasure chest with how its overflowing.’’ Wren commented, eyes darting to the trinkets piled so high that the lid could no longer close. Mick plopped himself down on the couch and the older man followed. His hand teetered over the top of the box, he went to grab something but hesitated. ‘’Do you mind if I touch these? I know some are very particular with their things.’’

‘’Nah, go roight ahead.’’ He said, inviting Wren to do whatever he wanted.

At first, he only counted the items. ‘’Beeindruckend!’’ He cooed, beaming from ear to ear. ‘’So many for someone so young!’’ He breathed, bewildered by what Mick had amassed over his life. ‘’It’s rather admirable. When I was your age, I was merely starting out… Consider me impressed.’’ Hearing words of praise nourished his very soul. It fed his starved ego and made him feel warm all over. Wren picked up a watch and listened to it tick. ‘’You must eat so well.’’

‘’That I do.’’ He said with a hint of pride.

He continued to rummage through the little chest of goodies with intrigue. He inspected the items that interested him, presumably to learn more about those who once owned them. Admiration and adoration were painted clearly on his features as he looked at each item. The older man was rather captivating in the warm, red and orange lighting that flickered with the flames. It made his eyes look darker, they almost looked to be the same colour. At first glance, a person would think they were both blue. The only thing that really gave it away was the cloudiness in his left eye.

‘’Ya never told me how ya lost that eye.’’ He said, opening the door to an entire conversation. It had always been a question in his subconscious, bouncing around like a ball waiting for the right moment to be asked.

‘’I haven’t told you for good reason. In all honesty, it’s a source of humiliation for me.’’ He admitted, for once, not looking up from the set of keys he was holding. He flicked through each key on the ring.

‘’Does it bother ya that ya can’t see properly? Most people would feel a bit crippled that’s what I’m try’na say, I guess.’’ Though he knew the doctor not to be the self-conscious type, he knew that most would feel weakened by it.

‘’No, It’s a fact of life at this stage.’’ Wren said, putting the keys down. ‘’Besides, it’s quite the conversation starter. I often change the story and make it up entirely for fun.’’ He turned to Mick and a sly smile crept up. His gaze was knowing and cheeky. He could practically _feel_ what was coming. ‘’And between you and me, the boys love it.’’ He said softly, uttering it as if it were a dirty secret. He’d been expecting that sort of answer but even still, he felt his face reddening and growing hot. ‘’But that is irrelevant. I’m willing to tell you this tale if you’re willing to listen.’’

‘’I am.’’

‘’Good…’’ He leaned back onto the couch, relaxed. ‘’Now, this story starts a little differently than you would expect. It began with a simple urge. Do you remember how my first blood went swimmingly?’’

‘’Yeah, ‘course I do.’’ Mick nodded.

‘’Well, I was feeling infallible after the fact. It wasn’t long until that unmistakable urge for bloodshed emerged once more. It is always such a bother, especially back then. It was an incomparable urge and so strong. It tended to linger behind every thought and cast vivid images of violent murders, it plants seeds of ideas that become near irresistible as they grow… I eventually acted upon that desire.’’ He said, turning a ring over in his hands and inspecting it closely. ‘’I desperately wanted to spill blood, but I had no plan – I considered myself too good for plans at that moment. Instead of being clever about it, I waited in an alley for someone to pass like a fool. My only strategy was to surprise them with a knife to the throat. I was blinded by a mad hunger to kill I leapt at my victim – that so happened to walk past - and tried to slit their throat, but he overpowered me. My knife was ripped from me and then he was trying to stab _me._ In the struggle, he slashed my face like so.’’ He ran his index in a swift motion down the left side of his face, tracing his scar exactly. ‘’The tip of the blade got my eye and that was that.’’ He said, closing off that tale as if closing a book.

‘’Ya can’t jus’ end it there!’’ He cried, needing desperately to hear the rest of it.

‘’I’m just teasing.’’ He said, waving off Mick’s outcry with his hand. ‘’Naturally, I couldn’t let him get away. He saw my face and worse than that, took my eye from me. That deserves the harshest of punishments, does it not?’’

He could only imagine Wren’s fury at that. ‘’Of course. I bet ya bloody _whipped_ that bastard.’’

‘’I did something far better.’’ The older man said, the enthusiasm dripping into his voice like honey. ‘’You know what I did?’’ He asked, a gaunt hand cupping Mick’s chin, a thumb brushing the stubble there. His eyes were so vivid with the excitement and the joyful memories of some horrible yet perfect, skilful and righteous punishment. He was stunning like this, rosy, lively, jolly and so wonderfully animated. When talking about his killings, the man became something else. He was no longer a prim and proper pretender with a fake smile but rather, this powerful, exuberant creature with an authentic, triumphant grin. He had this ability to transform on a whim, to become so much more than what he pretended to be. ‘’I chased him and grabbed him again. This time, I strangled him until he fell unconscious and dragged him into the car. From there, it was easy. I took him home – I remember that my blood was running down my face for the duration of the trip – and strapped him to my special table for his punishment.’’

‘’Please, Wren, I’m on the edge of my fuckin’ seat.’’ He groaned.

‘’Patience, patience… A rushed story is no good to anyone.’’ He reminded gently. ‘’…Someone had expensive tastes.’’ He muttered, suddenly distracted as he slipped a different ring onto his finger. ‘’Have you considered pawning these off? Some of them would fetch a pretty penny.’’ He added, examining the diamond on the band.

‘’No, I would nevah. Maybe if I was really strugglin’ for money but I’m okay at the moment.’’

‘’I understand. These have immeasurable sentimental value to you. May I add that I just adore your collection? It’s astonishing. I can see why you value it so much.’’

He felt warmer hearing words like that. He wished Wren would compliment him more often. ‘’Well, I’m glad ya like it— wait, you’re distractin’ me, aint ya?’’

Wren shrugged defeatedly. ‘’Oh no…’’ he put a hand to his forehead in a dramatized motion. ‘’You caught me!’’ He laughed heartily. ‘’Forgive me, I love to tease.’’

‘’All’s forgivin’ if ya get on with it.’’ Mick grumbled, taking the box of goodies away from him.

‘’You don’t want me to admire your little treasure trove anymore?’’ He scoffed, sceptical.

‘’Ya can from a distance. A distracted storyteller aint a good one.’’

‘’As you wish.’’ Wren sighed, defeated. ‘’Well, I wanted to do something very… unique for my assailant. I wanted to make sure he suffered. I waited until he woke up to begin. I first plucked a tooth. I didn’t bother with painkillers. I wanted him to scream and wail. I made it painful. I did it poorly, intentionally so. I cut his gums up, stabbed his tongue and ripped out his tooth. But that was only the start.’’

‘’I think I saw that tooth, real mangled and bloody, it was.’’ He said, recalling Wren’s collection of teeth. ‘’Ya didn’t bother to clean it, eh? He didn’t deserve a clean one.’’

‘’Exactly.’’ Wren said, visibly pleased that Mick understood. ‘’Whenever he screamed all the blood from his mouth would spurt out with his saliva. It was hilarious! I could hardly cut straight.’’ That joyous, spirited smile came back. ‘’After I was done with his mouth, I started severing the fingers. I had to gag him for that. He got _too_ loud for that part.’’

‘’Did ya talk to him? You’ve said that ya like to talk to ‘em.’’ He was genuinely curious. What does someone say when they’re cutting someone else up?

‘’I talked lot, actually. I remember playing with him, laughing at him and just… enjoying it with him. I told him exactly what I was doing and why and exactly how it would feel. He didn’t appreciate it, of course. But I was having _so_ much fun.’’

‘’Do they ever like it?’’

‘’No.’’ Wren breathed, disappointed by the fact. ‘’I wish they did.’’

‘’What did you do next?’’

‘’I started on the organs.’’ He blurted enthusiastically. ‘’I cut him open and I made him watch as I cut each part out. Of course, the non-vital organs came out first. Then, I cut the lens out of one of his eyes. That was when he screamed the loudest.’’ He slumped against Mick’s shoulder. ‘’I wish you could have seen it. The end product was quite the spectacle…’’ He sighed, his hot breath tickling Mick’s neck. It sent ticklish shivers all over his body.

‘’Describe it for me.’’ He said, meeting those eyes of his again. He so wanted to imagine it, to picture that beautiful scene.

‘’He was a bulky man, larger than me with golden hair and the darkest eyes you can imagine. I strapped him with rope, I did it so tightly that there were red marks on over his arms and legs…’’ Each word tickled his neck with heat. ‘’He had an ugly set of teeth. They were the really bulky sort, yellowed and chipped, like a goblin’s. I felt like I was doing him a favour.’’ He shuddered at the mention of them. ‘’He infuriated me. He called me the foulest of things. He despised me and so, I paid his harsh words with a harsh beating. I used my belt on him. I broke him down into a whimpering mess. He didn’t dare to insult me again.’’ The fluttery words tended to turn vile and candid when he wasn’t putting on a front. A temper could flourish without the floweriness. ‘’…He had these dirty, filthy fingers. It felt good to strip him of those filthy things. So much blood came from the little stumps, it was like a fountain with how much there was.’’ He let the man talk, the sound and feel of his voice was pleasing to him. Soothing, almost. ‘’Don’t even get me started on his organs. Now, don’t misunderstand… I have an unconditional love for organs. I adore them. I think that they are extraordinary things, intricate and beautiful… and though this man had a horrifically ugly exterior, his interior was absolutely _stunning_. His organs were remarkably healthy. They were supple, rich in colour and shapely. It was a pleasure to rip each and every one of them out.’’ Mick could nearly picture Wren elbow deep in some bloke’s guts, touching everything and anything in reach. He could just about smell the blood. ‘’Want to know what I did last?’’

‘’I really do. Tell me ‘bout it, darl’.’’ The words came out without effort, they flowed from his mind straight to his mouth like a river.

‘’I shoved a scalpel in his surviving eye right into his brain. The death was almost instantaneous but the last thing he saw was the tip of a blade. I stole his vision as he stole mine. I stole his organs, appendages and his life. It felt like justice in its purest form… cruel, righteous retribution.’’ He could be so passionate, even when the deed was long since done. ‘’I disposed of the body and that was that.’’

He could be so cold, so cruel and so… passionate all at once. ‘’He got it good compared to some of the folks you’ve executed.’’ He commented, thinking of those ornate cages, shining vividly in the morning sun.

He paused, thinking. ‘’And yes, I agree. As I see it, it was the best I could do at that present moment. Even still, it was quite the learning experience.’’ His voice was different from so close.

A question popped into his head. ‘’Tell me, Wren – jus’ hypothetically - if you were to kill that bloke again, like today or tomorrow, how would you do it differently?’’

‘’Ooh, very good question…’’ The question had surprised him. He hoped it was a pleasant surprise. Wren was quiet for a moment, devising a plan and a bloody fantasy. ‘’I would bring him here, gagged and bound and I would nail him to a tree, cut his stomach open and clamp his eyes open. The birds would come and feed, leaving nothing but bone. It would take hours for him to die…’’ He looked up to Mick. ‘’I would bring you along. I’m not so good with hammers and nails… I imagine that is your field of expertise. And besides, I would like to have company for the show. Your company, specifically.’’

‘’You would let me help?’’ He asked, bewildered by the idea. He would have thought that Wren would be too stuck up to let him touch anything if they killed together.

‘’I would.’’

Then, that thought burrowed into his mind like a worm.

_Kill._

_Together._

It was such a simple concept but somehow, the idea made him want to squeal in delight. He realised how much he wanted that. He wanted to grab someone and just to spill blood by Wren’s side. He wanted to do it all with him. He’d show the man his tools – his bow, his knives, everything. Kill with him and butcher their prey with him. And then, a feast together. Just like today.

It came out so fast that it felt like he had coughed it out. ‘’I want to kill someone with ya.’’ He sucked in a breath, Wren looked up at him at first surprised, then inquisitively, cocking his head like a curious crow. ‘’I really do. I want to get us a little friend, release ‘em on my land for a hunt and then kill ‘em with ya. It doesn’t have to be a quick hunt. I know ya like it slow. We could butcher ‘em and all the rest of it and… God, I don’t fuckin’ know. I jus’ wanna…’’ Wren was still looking at him, though, this time a smug smile had blossomed on his face. ‘’I’m ramblin’, aren’t I?’’

‘’Yes, but please, go on.’’ He was excited, anticipating the rest, he could hear it. Wren was loving this. He wanted this, too. He felt warm and tingly and like he was about to burst with excitement. It felt like he could have this little fantasy. It could be real. They could do it together. Indulge together. Sin together. Kill together.

‘’We could do what you wanted, too. We could dissect ‘em or shove ‘em in a cage. We could cut ‘em up or dangle ‘em by their guts for the birds. Or maybe, we could jus’ chase ‘em in the bush, catch ‘em in a trap or cripple the legs and butcher ‘em. We could eat after, cook somethin’ up or eat it jus’ straight up raw like you wanted. I don’t care how we do it. I jus’ want to do it with ya.’’

‘’Yes, Mick. _Yes_ …’’ He felt a manic energy ignite like a flame. He could see it in his eyes that were now bright and vibrant with a newfound power. He so wanted this. He could feel it like crackling electricity in the room. He had always wanted this and it seemed so did Wren. ‘’I could find a friend for us. It wouldn’t be at all difficult… a night out at the bar is all it would take.’’

‘’With your silver tongue it wouldn’t even be a night, maybe five fuckin’ minutes.’’ He joked.

‘’And then it would be merely a matter of bringing them back here and then we can have our fun.’’ Wren’s hands slithered down to his thigh, squeezing gently. ‘’I would just _love_ to do things your way. It would be a privilege to go hunting with you, Mick. We could make a game out of it. Two hungry wolves and one _very_ unlucky person…’’ His voice had turned to honey, sweet and smooth.

‘’Darl, jus’ tell me when. We can do it anytime—‘’

‘’Tomorrow.’’ He breathed, sitting up rapidly and looking at him with a fiery intensity he’d never seen before. He lost his relaxed composure and his sweetened voice. It was breathy and manic. Full of life and a desire to begin. ‘’I want to do it tomorrow. God, Mick. I want this. I need this. _We_ need this.’’ He was pleading, begging with hunger and need.

‘’Tomorrow.’’ He whispered back, feeling the word exit as a powerful, excited gush of air.

‘’They would be our first.’’ The way Wren said it brought out only excitement and a readiness to begin. His heartbeat was rapid now and butterflies fluttered madly in his stomach.

‘’ _Our_ first…’’ He breathed out in amazement. He felt the other man’s gaunt, graceful hands around his own. The resultant heat and feel of them on his was welcome. He didn’t want this feeling to leave.

Then, as if to take it all away from him, a phone rang. ‘’Is that yours?’’

‘’Doubt it, I never get calls.’’ He shrugged. It was true. He only got calls from scammers and the occasional stranger, usually calling the wrong number.

Wren freed one hand, pulled his phone from his pocket and frowned. ‘’Ugh, it’s a co-worker. They can wait.'' He hissed, carelessly tossing the device aside. His nails were digging into the seat of the couch as it rang over and over. ‘’I am so sick of them.’’ He hissed. ‘’Everyone seems to think I’m their friend that they can call at any time they feel like.’’

‘’You’re pretty friendly. It doesn’t help your case.’’ He argued back. ‘’Bein’ a recluse has its perks.’’ At last, it stopped ringing. 

‘’Oh, what I would do just to disappear for a while and just… get away from work and my ugly little house and my loud neighbours and everyone else.’’ He slumped against the couch, rubbing his temples.

‘’You’re always welcome here, Wren.’’ The words came out naturally, he meant them. From his understanding, this man could come over any time he liked. ‘’I mean that. I’d understand if ya jus’… rocked up one day, unannounced. Hell, I’d probably be happy ‘bout it.’’

‘’That means a lot. Perhaps I’ll consider coming here next time I’m desperate for a getaway.’’ Wren closed his eyes. ‘’Mm… I could fall asleep right here.’’ He grumbled, sounding exhausted. ‘’Sing me to sleep, would you? I bet you have a beautiful singing voice.’’

It would be a cold day in hell when he sang a tune. ‘’No way, mate. I’m not your servant.’’

‘’Du könntest sein...’’ He grumbled quietly. ‘’…Wenn du gerne möchtest.’’ He chuckled lowly at that. Mick assumed it to have been some sort of dirty comment.

He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘’C’mon, we should get to bed. You’re obviously tired.’’ He snatched the doctor by the wrists, encouraging him to get up. He rose up with reluctance, like a corpse rising from its grave. ‘’There’s a few beds in the house to choose from--‘’

‘’—Yours will suffice.’’ He answered hastily before a question had even been asked.

‘’Ya want to sleep with me?’’ It sounded so absurd.

‘’Ja.’’ Mick understood to an extent. Maybe this would be a new ritual for him, to sleep with the man he would kill others with. Maybe it was a statement of trust, to be willing to be so close to him in his most vulnerable state. Or perhaps, he merely wanted company through the night. It could be all those things. But whatever his reasoning, the opportunity to cuddle up to someone else was something so rare that he would gladly take it. He held the doctor’s hands as they walked down the hall to his room. He closed the door behind them. He couldn’t help but notice the other man examining his room. His fingers brushed the windowsill, feeling for dust. Mick was suddenly very thankful he’d bothered to clean this room, if not, he probably would have received a scolding.

‘’Now, uh, only rule. No shoes in bed. I can’t stand for that sort of shit.’’

‘’I’m not an animal, Mick.’’ He replied, suddenly sounding startlingly awake.

‘’I thought you were tired. Ya sound pretty damn awake right this minute.’’ He sounded interrogative. He put his hands on his hip and let a scowl cross his features.

‘’I feigned it, Mick. I think you fail to understand just how naturally it comes to me.’’ Wren said, chuffed with himself. ‘’I would like to lay down, but I don’t feel like sleeping just yet. Hence, I did something a little naughty to convince you to let me lay around in your bed. ’’ He hopped onto the bed and his hands went to his shirt. ‘’Now, I typically sleep in the nude but I feel that you may not appreciate—‘’ Something in his face must have changed because Wren changed his mind. ‘’Actually, I don’t think you mind, do you?’’ He teased, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt.

‘’I thought you said you weren’t gonna have your nanna nap jus’ yet.’’ He said, avoiding that rabbit hole of a conversation completely.

‘’I’m merely readying myself for bed. You’re welcome to do the same.’’

‘’Fuckin’ hell, you’ve already taken ownership of my bloody bed.’’ He joked. Wren had already put his clothes aside. It took effort not to stare. So much effort. If he were to gawk and ogle as if he were an exotic bird here, it would be disastrous. He got away with it earlier for the sole reason that the great outdoors offers more than enough pretty things to be distracted by. But in his room, there was no way to pretend he’d been looking up into the trees or at a wildflower. Mick considered this newfound fascination to be just a curiosity rather than something grotty. But perhaps it was wrong. Innocent curiosities could always change. He could blink and he’d be frothing at the mouth. It had certainly been a while since he’d seen any blokes so it wouldn’t surprise him if he suddenly wanted to—

‘’You might just have to take it back.’’ Wren said, rolling over onto his side, facing Mick. There was an obtuse pause. It seemed Wren had a moment of self-realisation. ‘’You aren’t uncomfortable at all, are you? I know this may be frightening for you… having another person at your home, in your bed and so close to you.’’

‘’Whaddya mean? Havin’ a bloke naked in my bed with me? Nothin’ at all terrifyin’ ‘bout that.’’ He joked, sarcasm ebbing in his tone. ‘’…It is a little weird though, aint it? Two blokes in bed together, almost naked, both pooftahs...’’ He had to say it, it sounded like he was complaining when really, he had no complaints. This was all fine with him. Intimacy and closeness of any sort would be a welcome part of his world.

‘’I can control myself… unless you tempt me.’’ He muttered the last part and it brought heat to his cheeks. ‘’And no, it is not strange. Perhaps intimacy is something very foreign for you. If so, I hope to change that fact.’’

‘’I mean, do blokes often have sleepovers loike this? Is this normal? Are _we_ normal, Wren?’’ The words were spurting out of him like a stream.

Wren looked at him with disappointment and an odd tenderness. ‘’Does it matter?’’ He asked. ‘’ _We_ set the precedent for what is the standard for this relationship, not other people. We can go swimming, have a slumber party like teenage girls and talk about boys and murder and all our little secrets. We can do anything we want, Mick. This – among other things - can all become routine...’’ His voice grew softer, gentler as he went along until it was a mere, sweet whisper in his ear. ‘’Even tomorrow can become a regular component of our partnership if we so desired.’’ That amiable whisper became an impassioned growl.

‘’We’re whatever we want to be…’’ The words came out as a mutter, as a weak, shuddery breath.

Wren said nothing. No answer was necessary. Mick felt something between them now, like a chain of need that bound them together. Right now, he could feel it tugging at his body, it was being stretched and pulled to an uncomfortable extent. He needed to close the gap, to release all that pressure and loosen the choke hold on his throat. The Australian pushed up against Wren, almost begging him to pull him in closer. He felt stupid for asking and wanting it, but he needed it.

His wish was granted. He felt those large, beautiful hands around him. ‘’Du armes ding...’’ The older man muttered, his nimble fingers twirling the hair on his chest. ‘’Armer, einsamer junge.’’ The words, though foreign, were spoken soothingly, sweetly, kindly. ‘’Ich werde für dich sorgen...’’

‘’Wren…‘’ He mumbled, leaning against the other man’s chest, feeling him so close.

‘’Hush.’’ He could feel the other man’s every breath against the nape of his neck. It was calming somehow, homely and comforting. He could feel his body against his, the warmth on his skin and just about the vibrations of his throat. ‘’Schlafen…’’ He whispered in a way that was almost serene. Mick understood what he wanted. Rest. A bit of sleep would do them both some good.

And he was more than willing to fall asleep in his arms. He felt warm all over, enveloped in a loving embrace. His scent was always a welcome one, today he didn’t carry the aroma of flour and sugar, but instead a musky aftershave and the faint, earthy smell of the creek. ‘’Nobody’s held me loike this b’fore,’’ He began, closing his eyes and allowing the tiredness and comfort to overwhelm him.

‘’Shh…’’ Mick was pulled closer, so close that he was pressed against the older man. It was strange to think this same man could perform live dissections and watch as others died before his eyes, begging for his mercy. The doctor could easily strangle him, but he had chosen instead to hold him close and to provide comfort. His eyelids turned to heavy stones and his consciousness sunk deep into the sea of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next part is gonna be WILD  
> get excited because its finally happening!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment you have read this wall of text for :)  
> warning: this chapter contains disturbing content  
> ...but you knew that already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that I will be taking a little bit of a break from this fic. More in end notes :)

Wren’s sleep had been eventful. Or rather, he’d imagined it to be. His mind was never quiet, even while his body rested. Last night had been quite like most other nights, where his lust constructed fantasies of all shapes and sizes. Variance was not uncommon, sometimes, they were set in elegant ballrooms, in the warmth of his bed or on the cold surface of the operating table he kept hidden from the world. They all ended the same way; with young, beautiful men beneath him, needy and so wonderfully vocal. However, this time, it had been very different. This dream had been a unique product, inspired by a change in routine and behaviour. He’d been gentle in his sensual dream, something unprecedented. It hadn’t been a rough, needy and animalistic. Rather, it had been gentle, slow and delicate. Even the barbaric act of sex had become saccharine to a near sickening extent. There’d been intimacy, passion and pause. It hadn’t been hurried or rushed or for shallow pleasure alone. It had been explorative and designed to strengthen a bond already woven together so tightly that it wouldn’t break.

On top of that, he rarely dreamt of those he knew. Usually they were faceless, nameless and complete constructions. Not this time. In this unusual dream he had been interwoven with the bushman, so close with him, in a state of utter ecstasy with him. He knew it to be a mere invention of their time together alongside the unrelenting nature of his lust. It was merely a matter of his mind stitching the two things together in the fabric of a dream. But part of him wondered if it was just… incidental or if perhaps, in some way, he desired Mick in some form.

As always, it was difficult to know for certain. While the bushman certainly wasn’t conventionally attractive – with a lopsided gait, twisted, broken smile and an unusual understanding of social niceties – in that he had very little understanding of them. However, that ruggedness and simplicity and strangeness was oddly charming. He sometimes found himself captivated by this filthy, yet endearing animal of a man.

Mick had woken up before him. He faintly remembered the other man wriggling out of his arms and out to the kitchen before Wren fell asleep again. As if on cue, the early bird waltzed in, carrying a steaming cup of coffee. Immediately, the inviting scent of fresh coffee filled the room. ‘’Oh, I was jus’ ‘bout ta wake ya up, sleepyhead.’’

‘’I have been awake for some time.’’ He said, betraying his notion was the fact that his voice was groggy and in many ways, still asleep. It came out as a croak.

Mick shook his head, mocking him. ‘’I’ve been up since four, mate. I got every right ta call ya a sleepy head.’’

‘’I suppose you do.’’ He surrendered.

‘’I nearly forgot,’’ Mick offered him the coffee. ‘’This one’s for you.’’ He took it gladly. The cup was warm in his hands, which one could appreciate on cold mornings like this.

‘’What a pleasant surprise.’’ He felt a smile teasing his lips. He took a sip. It was bitter and there was too much milk for his liking but coffee in bed was nothing to complain about.

‘’It’s not the only surprise I’ve got for ya.’’ Mick teased, shyly putting his hands in his pockets.

‘’Oh?’’ Something in his tone suggested it was good.

‘’C’mere and I’ll show ya.’’ Though cheap, the setup brought out excitement and made him want to see this thing. Part of him wondered if it was a trick, to lure him into some sort of compromising position – it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. But he knew Mick wouldn’t dare to pull a stunt like that. The bushman was too conscious of his opinion of him. They held hands as they walked to the kitchen. This was good. His efforts to expose Mick to the simply outlandish idea that humans could in fact _touch_ each other seemed to be effective. Slowly but surely the recluse was growing accustomed to the idea of contact and physical affection. Wren only hoped that understanding would help him be conspicuous in the future and perhaps more successful in his sparse relationships. His only worry was that Mick might get too handsy. Mick brought him to the dining table, where two plates had been laid out. Mick had his own coffee by his plate. On each dish was a sausage and a slice of toast with scrambled egg piled on top. On the side were stray vegetables from the garden. He’d bothered to make them breakfast. It was sweet, to say the least.

‘’This looks wonderful, Mick.’’ He said, hunger biting at him. ‘’I assume you made the sausages?’’ Wren pulled out his seat and sat at the table.

‘’Ya guessed it.’’ He looked prideful about the fact. He joined Wren at the table and scooped up his toast. It was only then when he noticed that neither of them had bothered to dress properly. He was nude and Mick was shirtless. He couldn’t help but smile. It was as if they were an old married couple, too involved with one another to even care anymore. ‘’Greens are from my garden and the eggs are from my girls.’’

‘’Look at you, self-sufficient and independent… I like that in a man, you know.’’ He twisted the words into a tease.

‘’Well, I had ta buy bread but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?’’ He took a bite out of his toast and some of the egg fell onto his plate.

‘’This is quite the thought, Mick…’’ He chopped the sausage and put a piece in his mouth. It was better than what he got from the butcher and though it wasn’t bratwurst it was certainly something to brag about. The flavours were rich yet homely and humble. It held that homemade taste, the sort where the love put into it can be perceived. ‘’Mm. It brings me a bit of shame to admit it, but I would come here just for your cooking.’’

‘’I’m jus’ an added bonus, huh?’’

‘’It’s the other way around, freund.’’ He lauded.

‘’Shit, I owe my girls a cuddle for these scrambled eggs. It’s bloody good.’’ Evidently, he was chuffed with himself and his chickens.

He cleared his throat, catching Mick’s attention. ‘’I hate to distract you from this lovely breakfast, but I must bring up today’s main event.’’

‘’Ah, yeah, ‘course. It’s been on my mind too. My heart won’t stop racin’.’’ He patted his chest.

It had been very difficult to distract himself from the thoughts of spilling blood and hunting down a frightened, pathetic sheep. ‘’I have devised a loose plan for today.’’

‘’And when did ya think this up? You’ve been sleepin’ until jus’ now.’’

‘’Last night while you were busy dozing, I was thinking this through.’’ He admitted he’d been using the quiet to feed his thoughts, to scheme and plan. He had quieted and calmed Mick for that purpose. He’d only allowed himself to fall asleep after deeming this plot satisfactory. ‘’Regardless of when I constructed it, I think I should inform you properly.’’

He explained his ideas in as much detail as he could muster without boring the other man or losing his attention. Mick agreed with most aspects but argued a few small things be changed to favour his skillset. If things went awry, they agreed to improvise. However, Wren doubted that they would have to do anything outside of the outline. This sort of strategy worked wonders on his own. With a friend, it would be even easier to carry out.

‘’Okay, that… that sounds good. I couldn’t’ve come up with anythin’ better myself.’’ He agreed to the plan. He finished off his sausage and then went for the vegetables. ‘’I’m a lil’ nervous but I think it’s jus’ ‘cause I haven’t done this sorta thing with someone else b’fore.’’

‘’There is no need to worry. If both do our part, this will go off without a hitch…’’ He could put on this calming tone so well now. It was another voice he’d learned to put on. Mick had been a key teaching element in that but also the sole beneficiary from it. ‘’It will be perfect, Mick. I promise.’’

‘’God, ya could make me believe anythin’ if ya tried.’’ It sounded like a compliment but also an insult at the same time. He chose to take it as a compliment.

‘’You flatter me.’’ He finished off his breakfast and put his cutlery on the centre of the plate in a ‘finished’ display. Mick looked at it, confused but chose not to acknowledge it. Manners weren’t commonplace in this house, it seemed. It made him wonder of the bushman had been raised by wolves.

‘’Done already? Christ.’’ He cried, gesturing to his empty plate.

‘’It’s your cooking, it inspires quite the appetite.’’ He took a sip of his coffee. 

‘’No wonder people love ya. Ya make ‘em feel good.’’ He said, rubbing his neck. The man struggled with compliments and did his best to reflect them or throw them away. Neither worked, of course.

Mainly because he could throw them back. ‘’Are you speaking for yourself?’’

He froze up. That in itself was a definite affirmation. ‘’…Yeah.’’

‘’I’m very willing to do that more often.’’ He said it quietly, secretively but just loud enough that the bushman would hear it. Mick averted his gaze, pretending he hadn’t heard or perhaps, he had merely ignored it. He finished off his breakfast and scooped up their plates. ‘’Would you like me to help you clean up?’’ He figured it was the polite thing to do, seeing as the younger man had gone to all this effort to put food on the table.

‘’Nah, it’s aight. I can clean up while ya get us a friend from town.’’ Mick waved him off as he put the plates in the sink. ‘’Ya should get dressed, yeah? Ya won’t woo anybody with your arse out.’’

‘’I believe it to be the contrary. I have been told on several occasions that I have a very nice—‘’ Mick put a finger to his lips, shutting him up before he could finish that thought. ‘’Maybe you’re already aware. There is no need for me to tell you something you already know, yes?’’ He loved stepping over this line, crossing it completely and spitting on it. He revelled in breaking the rules and mercilessly rewriting what was standard procedure.

‘’Ya have this way’a twistin’ things to be jus’ as dirty as you are.’’

‘’I am not dirty!’’ He retorted, the offense thick in his tone. ‘’I didn’t say anything at all provocative… perhaps _you_ have the filthy mind…’’ He knew that to be a lie, but he so loved playing with Mick that he couldn’t help himself. ‘’But… I don’t mind filthy men. I’ve said it before and I will say it again.’’ He couldn’t stop. He had to pull this thread to breaking point. He wanted to see how hard he could tug. He leant in and let his voice drop low. ‘’I just _adore_ dirty boys like you.’’

He loved it when Mick turned as red as a beet and this time was no exception. ‘’Go on, get dressed before I pelt ya.’’ He joked as he turned on the faucet. He was assertive in his own way, with little jokes and a hint of insistence in his voice.

Wren left him to his own devices and fetched his clothes from where he had put them the previous night. It was a shame. He had gotten used to wandering around nude. He dressed quickly but made sure he was presentable. He assumed those living out here wouldn’t have high standards but even still, looking good was important. He wanted to get this part over hastily. It was the dull segment where he had to feign a smile and an entire attraction he didn’t even have in order to ensnare an unsuspecting victim like a hare. He figured a reasonably wealthy and exotic city dweller was the perfect bait for the more mundane and economically vulnerable of people.

He put on his boots and swept his hair with his hands and considered himself to be ready. He scooped up his keys along the way. He returned to Mick and when he didn’t turn to face him, he slapped Mick on the ass. Not hard of course, but definitely enough to get his attention. He spun around immediately, looking both hurt and surprised. ‘’What in the hell was that for ya cockhead?!’’

‘’I wanted to get your attention.’’ It was the honest answer at least. ‘’And to let you know that I’m heading off into town. Do keep in mind what you have to do, yes?’’

‘’Good luck.’’ He felt Mick’s eyes on his back as he left out the front door.

**~***~**

As Mick had anticipated, it didn’t take Wren long to find someone and then bring them home with him. The moment he heard the engine of his car out the front, he retreated to his bedroom and hid himself in the closet with the old metal doors squealing shut. He could fit inside comfortably and just see through the shutters. It was the perfect ambush spot. He fished his lucky knife from his pocket and waited. He could hear the charmed, almost hypnotised giggles of a woman from the lounge room, leading up to the kitchen and slowly getting closer. It was the sort of laughter the ladies had when they thought a bloke was cute, all light and fluffy. Little did she know what was to come next. Mick looked to the knife in his hands. It was just to scare her, he reminded himself. He had rope stashed by the bed for quick access. At first glance, no-one could see it as it was tucked away in the shadows. Wren too, had a weapon. He had picked one out for him – a sturdy, bone knife. He’d promised to make him one of his own someday.

His breath hitched as the door opened. The shila came through first, holding the doctor’s hand in a death grip. She looked vaguely familiar. Perhaps he’d seen her in town. He knew her to be a simple farm girl, not unlike himself. He may have known some of her brothers in school, maybe they had been his friends and he saw her in passing. Either way, she looked familiar. It was a very small world out here.

When he thought about it, it was no wonder they had hooked up so quickly, a penniless farmhand like her would probably feel special around a bloke like Wren. It was easy pickings for him, especially here. Even though he knew that this woman meant nothing to him and that it was all artificial down to the way he talked to her, he felt a putrid pit of jealousy building in his stomach like poison. He had this way of twisting his words, playing up the accent just enough to plant the seeds in her head that he was exotic and rare whilst buttering her up with pretty, flowery words designed to make her feel good. He could stroke an ego as one strokes a puppy – it was natural, instinctual.

It was absolutely disgusting and yet, he was hypnotised by it. He hated every word. They were words he so wanted but instead, this pathetic woman had received them. He felt cheated. The grip on his knife tightened. He was telling her everything she wanted to hear whilst his hands were busy with the buttons of her blouse. She grabbed Wren and kissed him. He saw hesitance from the doctor and begged internally that he wouldn’t return it but he did with a passion that he couldn’t stand. He felt something vile grow inside him, a creature that wanted to possess and control and own. This thing inside him didn’t want to share. It was growing, blossoming and thriving in his jealousy. The creature was feeding and flourishing in this.

Mick hated her. He really did. She didn’t earn this. He was more deserving and yet, he didn’t have it. He’d been told to wait until her back was turned but that order had faded away into nothing. He practically kicked the closet doors open and stormed out, blade in hand. His knuckles had gone a ghostly white from grasping the hilt. Wren halted completely, stunned by his sudden fit of rage.

The shila turned to look at him and he saw a flash of terror before he strode forward and grabbed her by the collar. He shoved her against the wall. He liked the resounding thump and cry of pain and so, he did it again. He showed her the blade, baring his teeth. ‘’I’m gonna cut your fuckin’ throat.’’ He snarled, pressing the tip of the knife against her neck. His heart was thumping in his chest, beating with uncertainty of this decision. He could slaughter their prey right now, make a demonstration out of it. Show Wren what he was capable of. Show him his fury. Show him how badly he wanted his attention.

He decided slitting her throat was too quick. He grabbed her neck instead and squeezed. The choked sounds and failing gasps were music to his ears. Wren put a hand on his shoulder, as if to encourage him. ‘’Mick…’’ It was a whisper in his ear. He spoke in such a way that it was calming, soothing. ‘’I need you to be very calm for me.’’

‘’I am _calm_.’’ He hissed back, teeth bared in a furious snarl.

‘’No, you are not.’’ His voice could be like cream on a sunburn – so cooling, so pacifying. ‘’Take a deep breath for me. Can you do that?’’ It was so simple but so effective. He hadn’t even realised he’d been panting and breathing rapidly. Nor the fact that his hands were shaking and his nerves were on fire. He did what Wren asked and sucked in a breath. ‘’Now, let go of the woman for me.’’ He did that and Wren lowered her down to the floor. She had fallen unconscious but looked like a corpse. Bruises were already forming like craters on the moon. ‘’Good.’’ It was a soft sigh of relief. He crouched down and put his fingers to her neck to check her pulse. ‘’Merely unconscious… perfect timing, Mick.’’

His hands were still shaking when he realised that he had been so close to ruining this for the both of them over a stupid, selfish feeling. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He whimpered, dropping the weapon and letting it clatter to the ground. ‘’I’m so sorry, I nearly fucked this up.’’

‘’Don’t apologise. You did me a favour by cutting that awful kiss short.’’ He looked so… harmless. So forgiving. So kind and patient. It was strange to think he could just snap and lock him in a cage like the rest. ‘’I don’t mind that you chose to do things this way. The outcome is just the same as what we had intended.’’ He smiled warmly, unintentionally showing off perfect teeth. ‘’Ugh… the lingering taste of that revolting lipstick is just insult to injury.’’ He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Wren rose up and stood over the woman. ‘’She will be unconscious for a while. Would you like to carry her or shall I?’’

**~***~**

It had been nothing short of gratifying to watch a man turn violent for his attention and for praise.

Wren had only kissed that barn smelling girl to see what sort of reaction he could force out of the bushman. He never went that far on his own accord. Typically, he ensnared his victims the very moment they stepped inside his home. He could have done it the same way this time, but he wanted to create some sort of reaction. As a prize for being mischievous, he had seen an incredible display of violence. He had baited the beast out in Mick, inspired a monster from within to crawl out from the dark recesses of his mind. Wren had seen jealousy in its raw, most primal form; anger and hatred and violence. It had been so beautiful to see that animalistic hunger for him come to light. He wondered if it was lust, if the bushman wanted to be used like her or if Mick merely despised the idea of someone else taking him away. Perhaps it was both. The mere possibility of someone else having him had inclined the Australian to forgo their plan in favour of a murderous rage.

If Mick was so obsessed with him that he would slaughter any competition—

All thought came to a screeching halt with a sudden and almost world altering realisation; The bushman would kill for him. All it would take would be for him to ask and blood would be spilled for his love.

The thought gave him a shameless hard on.

Wren watched Mick pick up the body he battered and bruised with his bare hands. He fumbled with shaking hands and it made him wonder why he had insisted on doing it. If he wanted to impress, he was failing. Though, his eagerness to please was admirable. ‘’You excited, Wren?’’ He asked, looking at him with bright eyes that were richly coloured with the coming thrill.

‘’Like you wouldn’t believe.’’ He breathed. Mick slung her over his shoulder. She looked fragile and small like that.

‘’We should take her outside b’fore she wakes up.’’ She would wake up in her worst nightmare and in their beautiful dream. He was quick to explain himself even before Wren questioned him. ‘’It would be difficult to carry her if she’s kicking and screaming, don’t’cha think?’’ Wren nodded. ‘’Would ya mind helping me with the doors?’’

The doctor did just that. He followed Mick like a dog through the house, opening every door along the way. They went out the back of the house onto the more expansive part of Mick’s property. What he called his ‘backyard’ was really an acre or so of bushland. He would do anything just to lie on the grass, absorbing the afternoon sun and in a tranquil, peaceful state.

‘’Roight, I jus’ wanted ta let ya know that I closed all the traps. I didn’t want ya ta lose a leg or anythin’.’’

‘’How considerate of you.’’ He said sarcastically.

‘’I mean, we wouldn’t’ve needed the traps anyway but yeah… Jus’ in case ya were worried.’’

‘’I wasn’t worried.’’ He replied.

‘’Well, if ya lost a leg ya would be.’’ He said, laying the woman down onto the prickly grass in the middle of the field. There would be plenty of space to run in. Not to mention bushland all around. He shifted her hair from her face and tugged it out of her mouth. She looked as pretty as a picture like that, lying in the afternoon sun in a sun-bleached field. He couldn’t help but think of how striking she would be covered in blood and a spectacular array of wounds.

‘’How do we intend to kill her?’’ He asked, taking a seat next to Mick. The dry grass bit at his legs. ‘’Do you have a typical method?’’

‘’There isn’t really a proper way ta do it.’’ He said, scratching at his reddening ears. The sun always put a rosiness on his cheeks. ‘’We can jus’ do it however we want. Y’know, jus’ do things in the spur of the moment.’’

‘’Good idea.’’ He pulled the knife from his pocket and examined it out of curiosity. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it and so he took the time to admire it. This one had the face of a dingo etched onto it. It certainly wasn’t his favourite of the knives Mick had created but it was definitely useable.

The bushman looked to the sky and closed his eyes, peacefully absorbing the heat. ‘’Now we jus’ gotta wait for her to wake up… Then we can get huntin’.’’ He felt Mick slump against his shoulder. ‘’I never thought I would get to do this with anyone…’’ The saccharine words were uttered with sentimentalism. He could feel the hum of the other man’s throat against his neck. ‘’I feel like I won lotto’.’’ He muttered. Wren could listen to him talk like this all day. The admiration and raw adoration in his voice left him craving more.

The girl was stirring, beginning to move slightly. Her eyes were twitching, getting dangerously close to opening. ‘’She’s returning to consciousness, Mick. Ready yourself.’’

‘’I’m ready if you are.’’ Mick looked to her as he said it. ‘’And jus’ remember… I don’t care what happens now. Do whatever the hell ya want. I don’t care what ya do or how fucked up it is. I jus’ want ta do this with you.’’

‘’The same applies for you.’’ He purred, revelling in the possibility of embracing himself, of letting the mania slither out of the cracks like a snake, to overtake his every thought and to deliver a blissful high he rarely had. He could lose himself in the bloodshed, in the merciless slaughter. This was an opportunity to indulge himself, to embrace every dark part of his being. And to do it all alongside Mick was the ultimate gift. With him, Wren wanted to be seen, to be exposed to be himself in every way. He would gladly show off the most malicious parts of his being, as he knew that the bushman would respect him all the same and if not more than before.

Her eyes opened, showing maroon brown eyes. They darted around, desperately trying to make sense of it all. They found Wren first, then Mick. Her lips parted but no words came out. He imagined it to be overwhelming, frightening and so terribly confusing. He couldn’t stifle his mischievous grin. Then it all sunk in and he saw the terror in those eyes. She was breathing fast eyes wide and movements frantic. She wanted to be spared. She wanted to leave. Desperately. ‘’No, no, no…’’ She muttered under her breath, as in disbelief.

‘’Better start runnin’ luv.’’ Mick warned, denying her desperate attempt to make him pity her. He could see a smile blossoming. It was smug and proud and beautiful, though crooked. ‘’If ya stay much longer I might jus’ have’ta shove my knife in your guts.’’ That predatory growl that came into Mick’s voice brought out something terrible in Wren. It invited desire into his mind like an unwelcome guest.

He could only feel excitement. Their hunt was about to begin. It would start with a chase. Or perhaps a stalking through the dense bushland. Her attention shifted to Wren and she shot him a glare as sharp as a dagger. It had been sharpened with a whetstone of betrayal and hatred. She wasn’t moving, as if in shock. ‘’Run!’’ He yelled, snapping his fingers. She scrambled to her feet, nearly falling on the way up. She began to sprint in the opposite direction, not even looking back. ‘’Run far away little hare!’’ He could feel the apparent calm in his voice fading and melting under the heat and passion that came with a kill. ‘’Run or we’ll catch you!’’ He taunted, yelling at the top of his lungs.

‘’Let’s go.’’ Mick said, cocking his thumb towards her. Surprisingly, he didn’t take off in a sprint, rather, a leisurely, confident walk. ‘’C’mon.’’ He outstretched his hand, offering intimacy in a seemingly serene stroll. ‘’We’ll let her get ahead a bit, then surprise her.’’ Wren took his hand and their fingers locked together in a web of affinity. They walked in a harmonious silence. Mick lifted branches and pushed the prickly leaves of shrubs aside as they strode along the familiar path as a gentlemanly gesture. Upon holding up the long rake-like fingers of a tree, he paused, noticing something peculiar. He plucked a piece of fabric from the wooden claws and inspected it closely. ‘’From her shirt,’’ He explained as he pocketed it. ‘’She definitely went this way.’’ He looked down and an uneven smirk spread stiffly on his lips. ‘’There’s also tracks here.’’ Mick commented, looking down to the shoe shaped indents in the leaf litter. ‘’She’s headin’ up towards the creek. Prolly for a drink. If we’re lucky she’ll still be there, thinkin’ she lost us.’’ He let out an undignified snort. ‘’Hmph, you’d think a country girl would know how to cover her tracks.’’ He scoffed.

‘’But here they are, as clear as glass.’’ He replied.

Mick pointed towards the familiar path they had gone down just yesterday. ‘’How ‘bout this. Ya go off and follow her while I take another route to the creek and surprise her from the other side. We can close in on her and then…’’ He closed his fist in a crushing, trapping motion. ‘’We got her.’’

‘’Promise me we won’t get it over with too soon.’’ He brought Mick’s hand to his lips and kissed each one of his knuckles. It was a bribe. Affection for the pleasure of a violent, cruel, sensational killing.

‘’Don’t worry, darl’, we’re gonna take our time… consider it my treat.’’ He purred lovingly, eyes watching him dish out the kisses, taking in every detail as if admiring his work.

‘’So you do listen to me.’’ He chuckled, now squeezing the other man’s hand. ‘’You’re willing to turn this into a game just for me…’’ Wren’s voice was beginning to quiver. The high was flooding not only his mind but his voice too. He sounded breathy, excited. His voice was light, boyish almost. He felt gleeful, cheery and almost overwhelmingly jovial. The grin wouldn’t leave his face. Mick was staring and he began to wonder why. ‘’Is something wrong?’’ The accent came out heavily, as if the ecstasy flowing through his veins had made it stronger. Or perhaps, he was letting it out. There wasn’t a need to cage it in order to blend in.

‘’No, it’s jus’… you’re so happy.’’ Mick’s face was kissed pink. He wondered if it was the heat of the afternoon or something else entirely.

‘’You have no idea, Mick.’’ It was true. He felt so different as if the cage door had been opened and the trapped bird inside had finally been allowed to stretch its wings and fly. He could almost see the blood behind his eyes when he blinked, picture the deep cuts on her body after breaking the skin with his knife, the bruises on her throat where his hands had been. But that was only the beginning. Mick would add to those illusory lacerations and slashes with far more depravity. The bushman would bite and tear the skin with his fingernails, claw at the eyes and he would berate her with that ravishing snarl he could put on in a moment’s notice. He felt warmer inside and he could hardly breathe with all the excitement.

The hand holding came to a sudden halt. ‘’Roight. We should get movin’. I’ll see ya up at the creek.’’ The Australian took a detour and cut through the lush greenery. Wren followed the path they had used yesterday, where the wildlife was less dense. He made an effort to quieten his footsteps. He wondered how it felt to be encircled by two hunters, both armed with a hunger for bloodshed. He imagined that she was afraid, panicked and flighty. He could only imagine how she would scream when he had his arms around her.

Wren could see the familiar reeds and lichen spotted trees and stones. He was close. He found himself to be listening closely, trying to filter out the whistle of the wind, the chatter of birds and the rustle of leaves in favour of the sound of shallow breaths, footsteps or splashes in the water. He was careful to mind his blind spot. The idea of the girl ambushing him instead was not a nice one. He could hear little splashes, like small droplets of water falling into the creek. He crept out and hid behind a tree to sneak a peek. Their prey was there, greedily gulping the water like thirsty livestock.

Wren saw Mick peeking out from the bushes just nearby. He could see his silhouette, moving very slightly. He looked to be ready, and so, Wren announced himself. ‘’Did you think that we wouldn’t find you? I’m not sure what I was expecting but it turns out a pathetic bauernmädchen is not at all intelligent… Who would have thought!’’ He burst into spontaneous laughter. He couldn’t stop himself. It flowed out naturally, uncontrollably as if the floodgates had been opened wide. It was instinctual. It felt good on his throat. He cackled madly, grinning from ear to ear. It startled her. She turned and fell backward and began to shuffle away from him. Her eyes were wide, terrified. He took a breath. ‘’Ooh, running away, are we? I’m afraid you’re not going to get far.’’ He snickered, breathless from laughing. ‘’I would sooner rip out your intestines and stretch them all the way out than let you get away from me… and liebling, they are collectively a little over eight metres long!’’ By now, his laughter was an emphatic howl.

She scurried to her feet and took off in a stumble of a sprint. She was breathing rapidly, her mouth agape in a constant struggle for breath. He pursued her. He knew he would be sore after. Sprinting wasn’t something that came naturally anymore. Especially not long-distance runs. Every part of him was longing to be touched by the thrill of the hunt and so, he did his best to maintain this pace, even if it was taxing on his body. She turned at the sound of thundering footfalls and in a panic, attempted to shortcut through the bushes. He led her to Mick, as if he was a dog and she the sheep.

She nearly ran past Mick but he grabbed her from behind just before she got out of reach. He clutched her tight. The woman struggled and writhed against him to no avail. She clawed with fake nails and squealed like a pig. She fought and wriggled and raked at him and tried everything and anything only for it all to be futile. He watched her flicker of hope trying to burst into flame and failing miserably. The flame died, leaving the warm ashes of hopelessness and despair. She gave up and surrendered to Mick’s grip.

Her breaths were laboured and exhausted, as if she had run a marathon. Mick began to walk her over, like a prisoner on parole. _Their_ prisoner. ‘’Gotcha.’’ It was a mere whisper but a proud, satisfied one. He could hear that crackling, shaking anticipation in Mick’s voice. He was ready for this. He wanted to do this. He couldn’t wait. Neither could Wren. He wanted nothing more than to gut her by Mick’s side. But it was too soon. Far too soon. ‘’Wren,’’

Wren was breathless with his chest aching and sweat dripping down his forehead. ‘’Hm?’’ Mick was looking at him as if he wanted something.

‘’Take off your shirt.’’ He hadn’t been expecting that sort of request, but he gladly complied. ‘’If you’re smart, ya can bind her wrists with it.’’

‘’I wouldn’t have thought of that.’’ He replied, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off his shoulders. ‘’Clever boy…’’

Mick whispered in her ear as if giving hints to a child who had forgotten their lines to a school play. ‘’Now, give the nice bloke your wrists.’’ He let go of her arms but still held her chest to force her to stay close. Wren went to bind her wrists and got so far as the first few steps before she retaliated.

‘’There’s nothin’ nice about him!’’ She screamed, smacking Wren across the face then punching him in the mouth. A sharp burst of pain rippled through his body from his lip as the soft flesh split and bled. He wiped his mouth and saw red on the back of his hand. He played up the hurt that came across in his face.

‘’Ya hurt him…’’ Mick snarled. ‘’I’d say it’s pretty fuckin’ fair that we hurt you back.’’ The way a low rumble came into his voice was terrifying and yet, so very appealing. ‘’Y’know what? Fuck the restraints. I’ll jus’ make it so ya can’t use those nasty little hands’a yours anymore.’’ In one swift motion, Mick fetched his dagger and plunged it into the girl’s hand. She shrieked and screamed. He did the other hand and looked to Wren for approval as he did it. He watched the blood gush out in rushes and floods. It dripped from her fingers in thick and vivid droplets. Then came the sobbing. Wren found the ugly noise of desperation and submission to be immensely satisfying. ‘’I could cut between those pretty lil’ fingers but I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ve scared ya enough, haven’t I?’’ He sounded near animalistic, passionate and so ferocious, like a snake hissing before it sunk its fangs into the flesh of its victim. ‘’Now, behave.’’ He pulled her hair with bloodied hands, resulting in a pained yelp. Again, those green eyes darted to him, seeking approval and encouragement. ‘’Do ya want her teeth now or later?’’

‘’When we’re done. I’m of the belief she is low enough to bite me like an animal.’’ Unless his victims were strapped down and stupefied with sedatives, pulling teeth was often a difficult and risky task. ‘’I will settle for some little incisions for now…’’ He took his knife from his pocket and took off the sheath. ‘’Hold her still for me bitte.’’ Mick clutched her tighter, disregarding the blood that spilled all over his chest when he grabbed her arms as well. It took conscious effort to ignore the vivid red that painted his body. If he were to cut her just right the mess would endow the other man with blood. She wriggled as if she were a worm, writhing to the surface to breathe while the downpour soaked the soil. ‘’Relax and let me hurt you!’’ He giggled boyishly, unable to contain it. He grabbed her by the chin and forced the girl to look at him while he dragged the tip of the blade down her cheek. She wailed and screeched and it was no longer charming and endearing but instead, it was irritating, it bit at his patience and chewed up his temper until his laughter died down and instead, he snapped like an annoyed parent. ‘’Shut her up, won’t you? I’m sick of all the ugly, ugly noises!’’ He yelled.

He expected Mick to smack her across the face or to break a finger or something else as punishment. Instead, he forced her mouth open, grabbed her tongue as if it were an unruly snake and sliced it so fast he nearly missed it. It didn’t cut all the way through but it was enough to shut her up and turn every sound into an incomprehensible garble. The bushman was showing off to him, displaying his own special version of unfaltering loyalty and doing more than necessary to earn his favour. ‘’There we are… Is that better, luv?’’ His hands were wet with a mix of saliva and blood. However, he didn’t seem at all bothered.

‘’ _So_ much better.’’ He sighed out, relieved that she could no longer reach such a terrible volume. ‘’Now. Shall we get to the main event?’’ He couldn’t mask the excitement and anticipation in his voice. ‘’I would ask you to be still but if you move it hurts far more…’’ He snatched an arm and revelled in the way she tried to break free of his grip. ‘’And as you likely figured out for yourself – or perhaps you haven’t… After all, you only realized I was a threat after waking in a field far from civilisation…’’ He leaned in close and whispered; ‘’—I like to hurt you as much as I possibly can.’’ He couldn’t stop himself. The temptation was too much. He put his fingers to her neck and felt the rapid pulse under his fingers; the product of his and Mick’s verbal torment. ‘’Ohh… Look at you. All frightened and scared like a little säugling!’’ He taunted before grabbing her throat with force. He let her gasp and choke for a few seconds and let go. She screamed and yelled, though he could only laugh at the pathetic display.

‘’Remember not to rough her up too much, otherwise you’ll spoil the meat.’’ Upon mentioning of the word ‘meat’ she froze up as if the word had pierced her heart and halted all functioning of her body. Garbles and groans spluttered from her mouth. If her tongue were functional, they would probably be curses and insults. Or perhaps screams of terror. It was difficult to tell.

‘’Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t understand you!’’ He cooed in a sing-song voice before breaking into a fit of laughter. ‘’Ooh… Maybe you want me to cut you some more? Is that correct?’’ As he was hoping, the girl babbled incoherently. ‘’Was that a yes?’’ He asked, his voice bubbly. She made the mistake of crying out again. ‘’Well, that confirms it!’’ He cackled as he shoved the blade into her shoulder. He twisted it in deep and revelled in the choked cries of agony that erupted from her as the pain shot through her system like lightning. He then ripped it out and watched the blood flow. It soaked her shirt and ran down onto Mick’s arms. The sharp blade of his knife was covered in thick, red blood. He brought the dagger to his lips and licked the blade. He tasted the seductive, coppery flavours of blood on his tongue. ‘’Mm…’’ He couldn’t help but do it again. He sampled the crimson fluids on the other side, too. Mick was staring, dumbfounded and mesmerised. ‘’I have to admit that this is quite the appetizer…’’ His voice shuddered and quaked. Seeing and tasting blood with Mick’s eyes on him was enough to drive him mad. He would gladly lather himself with it, knowing the bushman was watching. He dug his thumb into the wound on the girl’s shoulder and listened to her wince and try to shy away from the touch on her raw, bleeding skin. He sucked the blood from his finger, eyeing Mick as he did so. He knew it disturbed their ensnared little hare, as she seemed to turn pale in the face with parted, bloody lips.

Mick escaped his hypnotised trance. ‘’Wren, I know you’re havin’ a lovely time but I reckon maybe we should get started on the main course.’’

‘’You promised me we would take our time…’’ He whined like a sad puppy.

‘’For me, this is takin’ our time. If I did this, her throat would be open since fuckin’ yesterday.’’ He wasn’t annoyed, merely raring to go. Wren understood. Compromise was necessary.

‘’Very well then. I’m willing to make a compromise for you.’’ He outstretched his arms. ‘’Give her to me and you may have the honours.’’ Mick reluctantly let go of the woman and shoved her into his arms.

‘’I’ve been waitin’ for this.’’ He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and a grin spread on his lips. Instead of drawing his knife, he dug his thumbs into the woman’s eyes and pressed hard. He then clawed at the wound on her cheek that Wren had made earlier. He scratched at the raw flesh, drawing more blood. ‘’That’s for kissin’ him, dirty fuckin’ slut.’’ He growled, losing himself in the moment, seemingly forgetting the doctor’s presence. His voice was laden with jealousy and hate. Suddenly, it faded into admiration. ‘’And thank ya for bein’ so lean and healthy… you’re gonna be a real treat.’’ He said, placing the tip of the blade to her neck. Wren felt tingly and warm with excitement. This would be their first kill. It was so close. ‘’We’re gonna have ya raw.’’ He taunted, twirling the blade. ‘’At his request o’course.’’ He cocked his thumb towards Wren.

‘’Ah, guilty as charged, I’m afraid.’’ He purred in her ear. He wished he were doing the same to Mick. ‘’I want nothing more than to feast on those gorgeous organs of yours.’’ He snickered devilishly at her discomfort. She wriggled in his arms, still putting up a feeble fight after all this time.

‘’Roight, I’m gonna cut her neck. Hold her still.’’ Upon hearing those words, she squirmed madly, desperate to escape. It was futile. Wren only grew more excited. He held her closer, squeezing her weak body tightly. Mick took a breath, lifted her chin and slashed her throat. The line was uneven as she moved at the last second, but it was certainly lethal. Blood spurted out in pressurised streams, as if from an ornate fountain. They were beautiful, strong streams from a healthy, powerful heart. It splashed Mick but he refused to move out of the way in favour of watching her succumb to death.

Wren could hear himself laughing madly like a crazed hyena and how it was scratching at his throat and stealing his breath. She made ugly and somehow hilarious rasps as all functioning began to cease. Her eyes were mellow, accepting and knowing. She surrendered to the cold touch of death and slumped in his arms, falling limp. He could hardly breathe. Their first. Right in his arms, like a dream come true. It had been a mere fantasy at some point and here it was, coming to life. Or rather, death. ‘’Now we jus’ gotta cut her open. What are ya hungry for darl’?’’

He chuckled lowly and laid her body out flat on the grass. Her dead eyes faced the sky. If she could still see, she would be looking at the sun. ‘’Maybe the lungs? I’m very curious about them.’’

‘’Can’t have ‘em raw.’’ Mick shook his head. ‘’They’re no good raw… they’re full’a phlegm and dirt and fluid and shit. If ya want ‘em, we gotta boil ‘em first.’’ He thought for a moment. ‘’How ‘bout liver instead?’’

He wrapped an arm around Mick. ‘’Yes, please.’’ It sounded like he was begging and in some respects, he was. A splatter of red spots freckled Mick’s face. They were difficult to ignore.

‘’You’ll have ta let me go if ya want me to start cuttin’.’’ He chuckled. Wren reluctantly obliged and released the Australian. He crouched down by the body and stared, fascinated by it. He ran his fingers through the girl’s dirty blonde hair and muttered incomprehensibly to himself. It seemed almost ritualistic. Mick lifted her ripped top and unclipped the bra. He fumbled with it. Next he stripped her pants and undergarments. He picked his knife up from the ground and made a small incision in her stomach to begin. The way the blood seeped out brought out a vicious appetite in Wren, one he couldn’t ignore. A compulsion created a need to touch, to taste and to overindulge. He gently grabbed Mick’s wrist to halt his movements while the other hand snuck over to the cut on her stomach and the thick blood that oozed out. He let it coat his fingers and palm. ‘’Wren?’’ He ignored the bushman’s confusion. He would understand soon enough.

He ignored Mick and brought his hand to his chest, lathering himself in blood. This was part of a personal ritual. One that revered the bloodshed and the beautiful mess that killing made. The scent was rich and one he needed to surround himself with. He hummed to himself softly as he marked himself with the colourful fluid. It was soothing yet so exciting to the mind. It stirred something from within. It awoke the true part of himself that only came out in moments like these. While he was busy, the bushman turned butcher made a window to her insides, exposing the organs within.

‘’Do ya wanna help or are ya jus’ gonna…’’ His eyes went to his chest and he bit his lip, hard. He saw the flesh crack and break and blood welled, making his lips redder than before. ‘’…Do that…’’ It was a near inaudible mumble.

‘’I can assist.’’ He said, emerging from his more unusual practises. ‘’It wouldn’t be my first time removing organs from a body!’’ He giggled excitedly, looking to the fat and flesh around the liver. Seeing it made him wish he had his surgical tools. A pair of scissors would prove incredibly helpful. He prayed the bone knife was sturdy enough to cut through. ‘’I can’t believe you do this without surgical tools.’’

‘’I’m not lucky enough ta have ‘em.’’ He replied beginning to tug at the organ to expose the fat. He cut it with brute force alone. ‘’See? We don’t need fancy tools.’’ He put the waste to the side. Perhaps he would feed it to his birds. He continued to cut at the fat and flesh until the liver came loose. ‘’How hungry are ya?’’ Mick asked, slicing the liver up into thin, uneven slithers.

‘’While I certainly couldn’t eat everything you have – shall we say – brought to the table… I could certainly share that liver with you at the—mm…’’ Without any warning, Mick had shoved a chunk of meat in his mouth. The taste was rich and intense, with a slight bitterness from the outer membrane. He quite liked it.

‘’A simple ‘yeah gimme that fuckin’ liver’ would’a done jus’ foine.’’ Mick shook his head disapprovingly before giving himself a piece. ‘’What do ya think? Liver aint my favourite but I think its okay if ya feel like it.’’

He swallowed and found that he couldn’t be upset with Mick’s crude manners. Rather, he was charmed by them. ‘’I like it… It has a very _unique_ taste.’’

‘’Ya want more?’’ He asked, smiling like a fool. A very happy fool.

His answer was near instantaneous. ‘’Please.’’ More was delivered to his lips and he parted them to let this gift in. For once, he and Mick locked eyes. He didn’t shy away from his gaze or pretend that he hadn’t been staring. It was as if the ice had melted away, allowing the water to flow freely. There was something powerful in the other man’s gaze. He felt something inexplicable and it showed in those emerald eyes. It was an incomprehensible, disarrayed fusion of fondness, yearning, understanding and perhaps, love. Those things had melded together, become one bizarre sensation one could only describe as raw intensity.

Wren knew a distant, twisted relative of this stare: lust. But this was different. This wasn’t the look a temporary lover gave him in bed, this was something greater, the purified, unadulterated variant from one who truly felt something meaningful. What they had was rapidly changing. He could feel it. The fabric was being stitched together, weaving them to one another. The slaughter of a powerless sheep was the blood needed for this binding contract. This mutualistic understanding was transforming. It was being reborn in an impure matrimony of blood and death. It would be born stronger, as something more beautiful and intricate than before. 

Mick’s hands were trembling and very slowly as if approaching a dangerous beast, he reached to touch his face. His breaths were slow but shuddery, as if frightened and calm at the same time. The bushman’s bloodied fingers locked around his chin in an unpractised, insecure hold and encouraged him to lean in by tugging so gently he could barely feel it. The other nervous hand plucked his glasses off his nose and put them aside. Those eyes met his again, terribly afraid. They asked for approval. No, _begged_ for it. There was something terrifying around them and inside them, something that seemed to take control. Wren knew better than this. He knew how dangerous it was to offer himself to someone else, particularly his exposed self. There were innumerable risks, innumerable dangers and potential complications and yet, he couldn’t refuse. Part of him argued that this was all he ever wanted and by doing this, he would secure it.

It started with a brush of the lips, the subtlest touch of flesh on flesh. There was a moment’s hesitation before the spark burst into a flame. The feeble, frightened touch transformed into a gentle kiss. It felt of innocence, yearning and inexperience. He learned quickly that Mick kissed as if he had never done it before. It was uncertain, unconfident and shy. He decided to take the lead to throw the man a lifeline. He perfected the angle, replacing the awkward bumping of noses with a sense of comfort and belonging. He was increasingly aware that they both tasted of blood and flesh but if anything, it made him more insistent. He was pampered with kisses, though they were wet, clumsy and amateur, he found it to be rather endearing. It all felt so virginal and that drove him wild.

Mick pulled away, completely silent. He had no words. He was speechless. Wordless. Silenced. There was nothing to say. Wren’s eyes went to the girl’s open chest, where the heart was lying within the protective barrier of the ribs. He looked to Mick. It was a silent question. He nodded quickly. He broke the ribs with ease and ripped them open. It looked almost like a flower like this, with each rib being a bony petal and the stamen being the heart. He began to saw at the fat, but without a serrated edge it proved to be an arduous task. He felt the flesh snapping, piece by piece until eventually it broke completely, freeing the heart. He then stabbed it. Thick, congealing blood dribbled from the atriums. It was in circulation just moments ago and now, it was doomed to be still forever. He made sure to scoop it out. Whilst he would call himself a connoisseur of blood, he assumed Mick did not share the same fondness for it. He brought a piece to Mick’s lips for him to bite into. He intended to share it.

Mick tore it with yellowing canines, leaving some for Wren. He personally considered sharing a meal in this manner – though barbaric – to be the most intimate way to eat together. There was no pretentious civility or restraint. It was merely a meal between two men. There was no need to pretend to be mannerly or courtly. They could share without judgement or care and be in their most natural states.

It was quiet without the cries and brays of a frightened sheep. Only the trickle of water and the rustle of the shrubbery filled the silence. The taste of the raw heart was not unlike the average cut of meat. Though the flesh was sturdy and far more muscular. He knew Mick was watching and that he longed to be interwoven once more. He appeared hesitant, as if he wasn’t certain on how he could reconnect. However, he paused when a sudden question came to mind and he blurted it. ‘’What are we?’’ It sounded simple but the answer was impossible.

‘’Does it matter?’’

‘’No.’’ With that answered, their embrace was reformed.

At first, it was all endearingly shy. Each peck was short and misplaced. Wren allowed his hands to wrap around his neck, to pull him closer as encouragement. It seemed to work as the bushman gained a fiery outburst of confidence. From there, it only escalated. It became deep, passionate and desirous. It was coarse and needy but also desperate and unrefined. It was sloppy and it was too much. Too wet, too bumpy and far too hungry. If with anyone else, he would push them away, scold them for being so crude. This ferocity and fervour had a different meaning with a man like Mick. It was rarely given or offered. He was the only recipient. It was flattering to know that he was desired to the point where the bushman would smother him with everything he had. As much as Wren tried to maintain dominance, it proved to be difficult. Before he knew it he was being gently pushed onto the grass with the other man on top of him. Though reluctant to admit it, he liked the way the other man could take control, even with a lack of experience.

He felt Mick’s tongue push up against his lips, pleading for entry. He allowed that tongue to please him and to explore him. Now that he was pinned to the ground, he wrapped his legs around Mick’s body. He felt their hard lengths brush past each other, and he found himself hooked on that friction. He felt their collective self-control snapping and the need and filthy, dirty lust and need seeping from the cracks. Something fiery and carnal awakening like a beast from slumber. It was loneliness and desperation incarnate which longed for sensuality. Mick fed their collective hunger by grinding against him. Their need rubbed together and left warmth and pleasure after each movement. Wren needed more. He joined in and rolled his hips to add to the endlessly gratifying stimulation. It was all so depraved but too arousing to even consider stopping. They were rutting like animals, going feral at the touch of another.

Mick moaned in his mouth. He could feel the hum of his throat. He imagined that the poor boy was touch starved and that this was a full feed. He could feel their cocks rubbing against each other through fabric, the friction making each and every brush and nudge blissful. He was already craving the chase, of climbing the height of a euphoric climax and letting it overtake his every other thought. He would drive himself mad with salacity if it resulted in a satisfying release. Wren’s hands wandered downward from the bushman’s hair down to his back and finally, to his rear. He grabbed at his plump ass. He could only imagine how satiating it would be to slot himself inside and to buck himself into a frenzy.

The kiss broke as the grinding devolved into impassioned bucking and thrusting. Mick threw his head back with his lips parted in a silent cry of pleasure. He looked to be close, with flushed cheeks and blown pupils and a desperation in his movements. It was going to be over so soon. He supposed isolation did that. It inspired desperation and need to the point where it rushed even the simplest and most instinctual of pleasures. Mick’s breathing hitched as his climax neared ever closer. The bushman bit his lip and the blood only added to Wren’s need. The friction was driving him wild now, he felt hot all over and as if he had entered a state of utter ecstasy. He needed more. So much more. But he knew he couldn’t have it. It was too soon. His instincts were begging him to grab and touch and to reach all the places he wasn’t supposed to. But this was different to his usual choice of company. He had to be responsible. Take this slow. With inexperienced men a particular delicateness was necessary. If he were patient, he would receive his prize eventually.

An enclosure of euphoria had locked around their minds and anything could take them over the edge. Mick was first to reach the peak. He came soundlessly and passionately with his hands fumbling for Wren’s shoulders as if to steady himself. Wren hastily pulled him in and smothered him with a kiss. He used his tongue to sweep up the blood on his lips and upon the seductive and coppery taste greeting his senses, he felt a shudder come through him, begging him to do it again. He was unable to stop. He bit the boy’s lips, forcing more blood to flow. He gripped Mick tightly and felt his cock surge with excitement. He was close. So close. When the taste of blood flooded his senses it brought him over the edge. After descending from a high that left him breathless, he ran his fingers through Mick’s hair. The bushman looked at him in utter disbelief. 

‘’I can’t believe I did that.’’ Mick laughed breathily.

‘’I must admit I didn’t think that today would end like this.’’ He couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘’I don’t mind that it did.’’ Mick sighed. ‘’It was good.’’

Wren basked in the afterglow and the feeling of a passing high. He was pleasantly sinking into the commonplace, average feelings and parting from his elation. The joyousness and exhilaration were replaced with stillness and calm. Mick slumped and fell silent, choosing to rest his head on his chest. Wren held him close and allowed the afternoon sun to warm them. The metamorphosis was complete. This companionship had transformed, growing colourful wings of dependence, closeness and intimacy. Two butterflies had bonded together, locked together in an embrace neither could dare to destroy as that interconnection promised acceptance, love and most of all, survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey
> 
> I just wanted to give a heads up that i'm gonna be taking a bit of a break from this fic and that updates won't come for a while. That's for two reasons.
> 
> 1) my holidays are coming to an end and very soon I'll be back to school (and I'll be greeted with the warm welcome that is exams) so naturally, I'll have less free time.
> 
> 2) I need some time to figure out where the plot is going from this point. As you can tell, this chapter was pretty major in terms of sowing plot seeds. I just need to figure out what they'll grow into. I would rather not do what I did with Insatiable and wing the plot.
> 
> Ah, speaking of Insatiable! I've been doing a lot of thinking and I've sort of realised why I am (and was) so unhappy with it. In a nutshell, I plan to rewrite a lot of it and to do a lot of major changes. For those who are interested, I'll do a more elaborate note on the fic itself on what might change and my reasons for doing so. I hope you guys don't mind <3 
> 
> Anyways, that's all I have to say for now. I hope you enjoyed this part. Also, I love your comments! It's always so nice to talk with such a sweet community <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, the honeymoon phase begins~  
> There is so much fluff in here its overflowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE BACK BOIS MENTAL HEALTH IS AT AN ALL TIME HIGH AND I'M READY TO CLAP THIS FIC

Mick could feel Wren’s eyes peering over his shoulder as he worked. All the attention made him feel a touch anxious. His every move was being observed. A hand was on his shoulder and the other was on his back, stroking small circles. He felt like a performer on stage, being eagerly watched by a fascinated audience.

With precision, he peeled the outer membrane from the kidney and discarded it. He then sliced the organ in half and cut out the hard part in the middle. He put the nasty bits in the waste bowl – the contents of which would be fed to his chooks tomorrow morning. As he prepared the meat, Wren planted kisses on his cheek and pampered him with gentle touches. ‘’Are ya gonna help or are ya jus’ gonna keep doin’ bugger-all?’’ He chuckled, hoping to get this done sooner than later. He was enjoying all the attention but he wanted to be in bed by a reasonable hour. 

‘’I could help… but you have hypnotised me with your technique.’’ He was kissed again. He would never tire of the feeling. ‘’Why, it’s all second nature to you… you never falter, miscalculate or make mistakes. It’s all… practiced, like a rehearsed performance.’’ He loved the way Wren’s voice twisted and curled in all the right ways to stroke his fragile ego. ‘’I could just watch you work...’’ He felt fingers trailing up and down his spine, pressing gently and caressing the curve. He wouldn’t mind just allowing the doctor to explore him with his hands alone. Wren closed the gap between them and placed a trail of shy kisses down his neck, with each lingering just a touch longer. It made him feel warm.

‘’Darlin’, could ya gimme a hand here? It’s a little tricky to get shit done with you all over me.’’

‘’Mm, very well… promise me we can resume this after?’’ He begged before scooping up the untouched organ.

‘’I promise.’’ He replied. Wren placed it on the cutting board, looked to what Mick had done and imitated it, but at a slower pace. Mick watched him do it to make sure he did it properly. He didn’t tolerate shoddy butchering. ‘’Don’t forget ta cut out that white bit.’’ He reminded, holding Wren’s hand around the blade. He helped the other man remove it precisely and cleanly before throwing the chunk into the bowl. ‘’Next we’re gonna dice ‘em.’’ Mick said, readying the blade for him. They cut it up into small cubes for frying with speed and strength.

‘’Must you be so talented?’’ Wren giggled.

The butchering process was extensive and fairy repetitive in a pleasant way. It was relaxing, soothing almost. He held the man’s hand throughout the entire process – quite literally. He explained every step and how each organ could be prepared. Wren listened eagerly and followed every instruction with his watchful eye. By the end, they had neat packages of meats ready to be cooked. They would be feasting tomorrow or maybe even tonight as he was quickly learning that the doctor had a vicious appetite. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of the food.

He grabbed Wren by the wrist before he could pick at their soon to be meal any more. ‘’Luv’, I think ya have a problem.’’ He chuckled, forcing the other man to stop.

‘’I think that I do.’’ The doctor brought Mick’s hands to his lips and he kissed each knuckle. Each left a small patch of blood as if it were lipstick. ‘’But I quite like this ‘problem’.’’ He sighed out. ‘’Dare I say that I like it _too_ much.’’ Another kiss was planted on the back of his hand. ‘’I think this is becoming an addiction.’’ He closed the distance until they were nose to nose. He took on a tone of wanting and desire. He could feel it in the way he spoke. It sent shivers down his spine with how his voice shook and turned into a passionate growl. Wren kissed him on the lips, just softly and sweetly before moving slightly. His voice was a mere whisper in his ears. ‘’I blame you for feeding this impure desire of mine.’’ His nimble hands trailed down his chest and then down to his belly. ‘’It could have remained dormant forever if it weren’t for you, Mick.’’

‘’You’re sayin’ I poked the bear?’’ He chuckled. ‘’Don’t bullshit. You would have done this for yourself at some point even if I wasn’t there.’’

‘’Perhaps.’’ Wren said with a smile. ‘’But I could not have done it to this quality.’’

‘’Isn’t it good that you met me, then?’’

‘’It’s more than good.’’ Wren said, smiling. ‘’In fact, being with you has been simply… _reinvigorating_. I feel that I have been resurrected in some way, brought back from monotony and horrendous boredom… I forgot just how dull my colleagues were until I liberated myself with you.’’

Mick just laughed at his flowery bullshit. ‘’I have no fuckin’ idea what you’re on about.’’

Wren giggled boyishly with rosy cheeks. It made his heart skip a beat. The bloke had this ability to become somehow even more attractive on a whim. ‘’In short, I like you a lot.’’ His hands crawled up to his chin and tilted his head slightly. He leaned in, just a touch and his voice went low and soft as if he were uttering a secret. ‘’And dare I say it, but I think that I have fallen in love with you.’’ That brought a fiery heat to Mick’s face, as if his skin was on fire.

Mick felt something so strong burn from inside. He was rapidly realising just how much he adored the man. He enjoyed being around him. He liked talking with him and just doing things with him. He never wanted to be separated from him. He couldn’t imagine a life alone anymore. He couldn’t bear the thought of returning to his old, lonely life. The man was rapidly becoming his everything. He needed Wren as the bloke needed him. It felt so much like love and he hoped that was exactly it.

Love was a foreign concept to him. He had experienced attractions, but they were never shared. He knew that love was something he had always wanted. It was always in the back of his mind, working to create warm little fantasies of waking up beside someone, kissing another goodnight or being held in another’s arms as he slept. He dreamt of dining with someone else, cuddling on the couch and having quiet barbeques outside in the evening. They were sweet little dreams, but perhaps now they could be a reality.

And that opportunity was right here, in the form of a partially crazed German with a taste for human flesh, sadistic tendencies and a love for eccentric dress.

Quite frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way. ‘’I love you too.’’

He barely had time to finish that sentence before Wren had pulled him in and smothered him in a loving, fierce kiss. His hands gripped his hair and attempted to pull him in even closer. It was violent and impassioned, with force, need and vigour. Wren pushed him against the counter with his body and that exploratory tongue forced its way through his mouth. The other man tasted of blood and flesh but it only excited him further. That distinctive, addictive flavour of death was also the taste of triumph and conquest. The more he felt every part of Wren, the more he liked it. He rapidly grew aware of how Wren’s hips nudged his own, how his hands tensed if he failed to properly reciprocate and just how his scent seemed to drown everything else. He could feel the slickness and stickiness of drying blood on their bodies as they touched and the warmth that seemed to radiate between them.

He had to pull away to breathe, it was all so new and overwhelming that he had to pause. He liked feeling Wren all over him like this. It felt as if he were drowning in new, lustful sensations and he would sink happily into them. The knobs of the counter were jabbing his thighs and he had an idea. ‘’Why don’t we go to bed?’’

Wren leaned in, as if to throw him into the deep end again, but instead, shifted to his ear. He nipped the lobe, enticing a wince out of him. ‘’You forget that we are covered in blood and entrails, dear.’’ His words were uttered softly, as a gentle reminder. ‘’In my professional opinion, a shower together is warranted beforehand.’’ A kiss was placed on his cheek. ‘’While yes, the thought of a bed of carnage is… _tantalising_ , to say the least. I’m afraid it would only be a detriment to our collective health.’’ He had honestly forgotten how grotty they were in all the excitement. Wren had interpreted his eagerness to sleep together as something far more perverse. Mick didn’t think to correct him. His hands locked around Mick’s own. ‘’And I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing you nude and soaking wet…’’ That part was a mere purr in his ear.

He turned as red as a beet upon hearing the words. ‘’I bet you’d get off to that, wouldn’t ya?’’

‘’Ooh… ja.’’ He sighed, the yearning rich in his voice. Wren tugged him by the wrists. ‘’Why don’t we hop to it, hm?’’ Wren’s smile was contagious.

With interlocked hands, they walked to the bathroom. The doctor closed the door behind them. It made him laugh. ‘’Mate, we’re way out in the bush! Peepin’ toms are basically extinct out here.’’

‘’Force of habit.’’ He replied as he turned the tap to the shower. The old knobs took effort to turn, as they had grown stiff with time, as if rigor mortis had set in. Water spurted irregularly from the shower at it came back to life. It then stabilised and a steady flow of hot water came out. Wren watched him as he took off his jeans and left them as a crumpled heap on the floor. Only when Mick was done did the doctor strip down. He imagined that Wren had wanted to see the rest of him after seeing him shirtless for the whole day. He wondered if it had been torture for the sick bastard to wait so long. To see Wren watching him so intently as he stripped himself bare brought out a warmth inside of him. It was a happy buzz, one that made him feel attractive.

‘’Take a picture, it’ll last longer.’’ He taunted.

‘’I just might…’’ Wren said, eyes darting to his body. ‘’But I won’t need a picture to remember a figure as gorgeous as yours.’’

‘’Quit it with the sweet talk.’’ He shrugged off the excessive compliment. ‘’I’m jus’ a toothpick, nothin’ more.’’

‘’Please don’t discredit yourself like that with words like that… I personally would consider you lean and maybe…’’ He paused to find a suitable word. ‘’… _Delicate_.’’ He lauded, smothering him with honeyed words again.

‘’’Delicate’ aint exactly a compliment.’’ He said as he stepped into the shower cubicle. ‘’I’m not a dainty little flower that’ll wilt if someone breathes on it.’’

‘’That is not what I meant.’’ Wren replied, joining him. ‘’What I mean to say is that you are not at all brutish.’’ The doctor put his hand into the water to check the temperature and turned it up, just a touch. ‘’And that naturally, I find that characteristic very appealing.’’

He shook his head. ‘’Shut up.’’ He said it with a smile, which came across in his voice. ‘’Ladies first.’’ Mick gestured to the running water.

Wren had no rebuttal. He stepped under the shower head to wash himself. Immediately, the fresh blood and guts on his body washed away, turning the water seeping into the drain a pretty pink. He noticed quickly how Wren made even the simple act of cleaning look elaborate and graceful. It seemed deliberate too, as if he were trying to entice him. He cleaned the blood off his chest in a manner that was near provocative.

Mick took the other man showing off as a cue to help out. The drying blood on his chest was more stubborn and he took it upon himself to scrub it off his partner. Mick worked his fingers through Wren’s chest hair to cleanse him of the smeared blood there. Of course, the bastard liked it. He saw the twitch of a smirk on the doctor’s lips before he pretended to have a straight face.

‘’I’ve been wondering why you uh… put blood on yourself like that.’’ He said as he rubbed more off the other man.

‘’There is no proper reason for it other than I find it quite enjoyable.’’ That answer didn’t surprise him.

He wondered what lathering himself in blood made him feel. ‘’Enjoyable how?’’ He asked, now busy with his side.

‘’It’s stimulating in the way that it is a proclamation of triumph. Surrounding oneself in the physical evidence of brutality is a particularly powerful statement, don’t you think?’’

‘’I mean, it’ll make ya look like a roight looney too… but sure, darl’. It’s a powerful statement if you say it is.’’

Wren watched his hands as they rubbed the grime away. ‘’You’re very gentle.’’ He commented as he felt Mick’s touch. ‘’It almost feels like a little butterfly brushing up against my skin.’’ He giggled.

‘’I jus’ don’t want to scratch ya is all.’’ He showed the man his overgrown nails which he cocked an eyebrow to.

‘’My, my, someone needs a good manicure.’’ He said in disbelief at the state of his hands.

‘’I really don’t. They’ll break by themselves eventually. Always do…’’ He trailed off.

‘’I could do it for you.’’ Wren offered, sounding genuine.

He considered it. The bloke certainly knew how to take care of himself and maybe that knowledge could help him look a bit cleaner. ‘’We’ll see.’’ He was getting a little cold now, as the doctor hogged all the hot water. He was left to stand against the glass wall, shivering in the icy air.

Wren washed his hair and scrubbed the last of the blood from his body. He stepped aside. ‘’Your turn.’’

‘’Took your time.’’ He replied before stepping in. The hot water was bliss on his skin. It was like he was being hugged with warmth and comfort. He felt nothing but relaxation as every part of him was soaked. His breath was stolen from him when Wren’s hands were on his chest. He stole some of the delightfully warm waters from him. He did his part in cleaning as well. He did it thoroughly too.

‘’Show me your hands, bitte.’’ He requested. Mick surrendered them without a moment’s hesitation and then the bloke cleaned under his nails for him. ‘’Gott, you’re like a wild man.’’ He laughed as he scrubbed between his fingers. ‘’You certainly have the claws of an animal and goodness me, all this hair!’’ He pinched his cheeks, where stubble was flourishing.

‘’I’ll shave tomorrah mornin’, aight princess?’’ He teased, prodding Wren in kind.

‘’The sooner the better.’’ He gave Mick a once over, looking for any more carnage. ‘’Turn around.’’

‘’Next you’ll be tellin’ me to bend ovah.’’ He chuckled.

‘’Maybe.’’ He said and smacked him on the ass. ‘’Look at that… clean as a whistle.’’ He cooed. As a response to the slap, he quickly spun around and gave the bloke one in kind. Wren giggled at the wimpy hit and then pulled him in closer. ‘’A feisty one I see!’’ The sound of his laughter was always pleasant, it was so very different to the outright maniacal cackling he heard out on the hunt. This was merely amused, not… excited. Those sounds of sadistic joy had brought up the question of whether or not the doctor had gone mad. He didn’t mind either way.

‘’Nah, I’m jus’ foolin’ around.’’ He replied, shrugging.

‘’So am I.’’ Wren cupped his cheek and gently kissed him on the lips. ‘’I think that we should get to bed. The night is growing older, I’m afraid.’’ A sly smirk spread across his face. ‘’And if I’m not mistaken you appear to be very tired of waiting.’’

‘’Finally.’’ He sighed out in relief. He was growing restless. Normally he was done minutes ago.

Mick turned the knobs in the cubicle and the head let out a final spurt of water before stopping entirely. Wren was the first to step out and he pried a towel off the rack. He inspected it before using it, as if he couldn’t believe it was a clean towel. He first dried off his body and then ruffled his hair with the towel, causing it to spike up in every direction imaginable. Mick normally didn’t bother drying his hair, as it dried on its own soon enough. He towelled himself off but that was it.

As Wren was combing his hair, he held the man’s free hand. ‘’C’mon, luv’.’’ He tugged his hand as if he were a nagging kid. ‘’Darlin’, you’re beautiful already. Let’s go.’’ He pulled again. ‘’You said it yourself, it’s gettin’ late.’’

‘’If you insist.’’ Wren surrendered, tossing the comb to the side.

**~***~**

Wren felt a bubbling, bouncy glee as the other man led him into bed. He got a striking sense of déjà vu when Mick crawled in beside him. He thought of the many young men he had slept with and even though some were more beautiful, charming or affluent than the man before him, none could even compare to Mick. Unlike the rest, the bushman brought out the most wonderful feelings in him. The burden of his urges had weighed so heavy on his shoulders and now that weight could be shared. It was all so freeing. He no longer had to stow his secrets inside himself, rather, he could let them out. He could let them out from the dark corners of his mind. They would not be allowed to fester as they once did. Unlike anyone else, the bushman would never tell. His lips were sealed and would forever be. He could offer a true connection, rather than something deceitful and shallow.

Mick was laying next to him and a hand inched to the small gap between them. Wren joined him and their hands locked together in a tight, affectionate hold.

Wren rarely offered physical affection. He found it excessive and could never quite understand it when he witnessed others do such things. But now, all he wanted to do was touch him and kiss him and smother the man with his everything.

So naturally, he did just that.

Wren turned over and positioned himself on top of Mick. He was careful as not to put all of his weight on him at once. The bushman felt thin and frail underneath him, as if he could break. He knew that thought to be a fallacy created by an eager mind. It was all so strikingly familiar that it almost hurt. It was an echo of a long gone past, a mere parody. He told himself that this was special. This was not a temporary engagement for shallow pleasure. This was something with a far longer lifespan. It would likely be indefinite. The blood of another on their hands was akin to a matrimonial band; little could separate them now. Against his treacherous urges, he deemed this as unique, sententious and consequential. Mick was not just another plaything for him. It was so much more and he fully intended to express that.

He started simple with a fleeting peck on the lips. Wren then moved down and trailed kisses down his neck to his chest. He adored the scent of the man, particularly now that he was clean and carried the pleasant aroma of soap rather than dirt and sweat. Even so, he didn’t mind the latter so much anymore. Perhaps he was even growing to like it.

‘’You’ve been awfully quiet.’’ Wren could feel the deep rumble from Mick’s chest. ‘’Are ya up to mischief?’’

‘’No, not at all.’’ He said as he shifted to the man’s already pert nipples. He first stroked the sensitive nub with his thumb. Mick first let out a surprised whine but quickly calmed, realising that it was intended to please. It made him feel a hint of sadness to know that so few had been with the bushman, but it also brought him a perverse pleasure to be one of the first to do so. He imagined that it was so very new for Mick and it made him feel good to be the one guiding him through a world he knew so little about. His reactions would be raw, untainted and unstifled by experience. He then put his mouth to that receptive place. He heard a shuddery breath in response. His first instinct was to stimulate him more until he grew needy and impatient but he knew better to listen to that impulse. He would take this slow to please the man, not to tease him. His only desire was to deliver his love in a physical form, by satisfying Mick’s every whim. Haste and greed would turn this exploration of love and adoration into a mindless, loveless fuck and nothing more.

He then licked that nipple, stroking it with his tongue. Wren felt him shudder and in response, he did it with more fervour. The enjoyment was rich inside of him. None of the men he had met reacted so intensely this to his administrations. It was a very welcome feeling to be appreciated. Wren wanted to show him more and so he sucked on it. He applied pressure and he quickly received his prize for his work in the form of a whimper. He found himself hungry to hear more of his sounds. He liked it when his lovers made noise. It was just as good as praise for his doings.

Wren moved to the other and did just the same. He worked with his hands and his tongue to please the other man.

‘’How are you so damn good at these things?’’ He asked as Wren teased yet more sounds and whimpers from him.

He pulled away just enough to speak. ‘’It’s all experience, dear.’’ He said lowly as his hands crept lower to the other man’s hips. He could just imagine the feel of them against his body, how they would slap and pound against him with startling force. The thought was simply electrifying. He planted a fleeting trail of kisses up the bushman’s chest, up to his neck and finally to his lips.

Wren locked the younger man into a kiss. It was slow this time, delicate and gentle. It was a different sort of affection. It was not fervent and lustful but instead, it had pause and consideration. He wanted to pamper his lover, to show just how much he adored him. Wren let his hands wander down his body, he felt everything in his reach and eventually held Mick’s hands. He could feel him squeeze them and he wanted so much more.

Wren reluctantly pulled away. He could feel the heat of the other man’s breath. His cheeks were rosy, and his pupils blown. He looked so beautiful that he could hardly comprehend it. ‘’I love you.’’ The words just spilled out of him and he meant them fully.

Mick only smiled in response, his blush deepened, and he wanted to do even more to the man. He knew that was an impossibility for the moment. He had no desire to rush this engagement. Tonight would be a night of pampering, affection and sweetness. There would be no haste or impatience. And thus – against his fleshly desires - he would ensure that Mick would remain chaste, at least for tonight. A man like Mick needed time to adjust to this blossoming relationship. If overstimulated, he would balk and kick him away like a frightened horse.

Patience.

For Wren, such a thing was easier said than done.

*******

Mick hardly felt the hours passing by. As time raced along, Wren had evidently grown tired of all the kissing and touching. Instead, the older man rested his head on his chest and stared up to the ceiling. In the quiet and the darkness, he felt a sense of calm. It reminded him of when he used to go out in the bush with his dad at night and they would talk until the sun came up. Similarly, they were both talking freely, about whatever came to mind. Being polite wasn’t so important in the cover of the dark.

‘’Have you ever been to a funeral for someone ya killed?” Mick blurted, running his hands through Wren’s hair.

His voice was groggy and only a mumble. ‘’…Only once. I made a murder look like an accident and naturally, the body was found. Thankfully it was deemed a workplace accident. I was young and reckless but that is besides the point. Today I would not take that risk but as anyone my age would tell you, it was a different time.’’ He sounded oddly happy about it.

‘’You could get away with a shit load more, I imagine.’’ He had heard many tales from his dad and overheard conversations between old folk. To them, a decade or two ago was a totally different world, where anything could just slip under the noses of authorities.

‘’You could, yes… I do miss that freedom sometimes.’’ He sighed, thinking of that time long past. ‘’Anyway, it was rather awkward to pretend to be sad about their untimely demise at the funeral. It was even more difficult with the memory of watching them tumble down the stairs so fresh in my mind!’’ He chuckled at the thought.

‘’Bloody hell, it must’ve been hard not to crack a smile or nothin’ knowin’ you killed the guy.’’

‘’Very.’’ He went to speak, halted and then changed course. ‘’How about yourself? Have you almost been caught before?’’

The thought brought him an ancient feeling of anxiety. ‘’I’m lucky ‘cause I’m way out here where nobody sees or hears nothin’, but there was a time where that nearly bit me in the arse.’’

‘’Oh?’’

‘’One time I was real busy at home for a week or so, jus’ makin’ knives, rugs, pillows and all the rest of it out of my game and that sort of thing. And I’m feedin’ my chooks some’a the leftovers from a hunt and then the coppahs come to my door for a bloody welfare check!’’ He remembered that horrifying memory as if it had happened just yesterday. ‘’If my girls weren’t such quick eaters, they probably would have seen what I was givin’ ‘em.’’

‘’Hm, the piggish nature of your chickens saved you.’’ He laughed. ‘’Perhaps I owe those filthy creatures some love.’’

‘’I reckon you do.’’ He felt those locks of dark hair between his fingers. ‘’Ya should give ‘em a cuddle tomorrah mornin’ with me.’’

‘’I think I will.’’

After that, there was a brief silence where they merely held hands in the dark, thinking of more things to talk about.

The thought was sudden and so overwhelmingly powerful that it spilled from his lips as if it were water. ‘’What do you want for brekky tomorrah?’’ Mick asked absentmindedly as he looked up at the ceiling. He liked to follow the grain in the wood with his eyes, looking at each spot and pattern.

‘’I don’t mind at all, Mick.’’ Wren said groggily. ‘’I will gladly eat whatever you decide to cook for me.’’ He trailed off, audibly tired.

‘’Someone’s sleepy.’’ Mick teased as he worked his fingers through the older man’s hair.

‘’Mm… All of this excitement has worn me out.’’ He mumbled.

A long stretch of silence followed. It was filled by gentle breaths, soft touches and the sounds of nature. He could feel Wren drifting off to sleep. His breaths slowed and he stilled. That was until he talked.

‘’You are being rather rude, Mick. You haven’t even kissed me goodnight.’’ He whined softly.

‘’It’s a little awkward like this, luv’.’’ He defended himself with that excuse.

‘’Hurry up and please be so kind as to kiss me.’’ Wren demanded.

He did as he was asked and kissed Wren on the head. ‘’Goodnight, darlin’.’’

‘’Goodnight, schatz.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm fluff yummy yummy  
> I missed this fic so much! I'm glad I'm back to full power and can write this bad boi properly  
> Plot might be slow for a little bit but I promise that there will be ''plot'' if you catch my drift ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me writing a 5000 word chapter? More likely than you think.  
> Also lock your door ;) 
> 
> Friendly reminder that all constructive criticism is welcome here! I had some difficulty writing a certain bit (you can probably guess which part) and any feedback would be super helpful ty <3

Wren was gently awoken by a lingering kiss on his cheek. His eyes burned with the ghost of sleep and he smiled through his tired haze.

Mick spoke softly to him, as if he didn’t want to wake him. It was too late for that. ‘’Mornin’, darlin’.’’

His eyes reluctantly fluttered open and he met his lover’s gaze. ‘’Morning…’’ He groaned. It was bright in the room, as the sun had risen from its shallow, temporary grave to live another terse life. In his sleepy state, he found himself to be rather annoyed. He wished that Mick had not bothered to wake him. It had disturbed a wonderful dream, which he intended to get back to as soon as possible. His eyelids turned heavy once more and as he was drifting away into the far paradise of his mind, Mick’s hands gently locked around his own, taking that slice of heaven away from him.

‘’Brekky’s ready.’’ Mick tempted.

He chose not to respond. The depths of sleep had already claimed him. He let himself sink into it as a stone sinks into water. All sound seemed to fade under the sea of rest, to the point where the bushman’s footsteps out of the room were muffled. He reached the depths, and the darkness swallowed the light whole, leaving him in a wonderful, blissful void.

However, he was quickly dragged back to the light by a soft voice in his ears. ‘’Open up, honey...’’ A part of him that was dizzied and stupefied from slumber was excited by those words. By nothing more than instinct, he parted his lips, hoping that perhaps Mick had garnered the courage to make the next step. If he wanted it to happen now, Wren would make it so, even if he was utterly exhausted. He was more than willing to fulfil Mick’s every desire, he wanted to see the man blossom and flourish. He needed to see his vibrant colours and glorious bloom. He longed for that beautiful sight and knew that it would eventually come. Perhaps it would come now.

Though it wasn’t exactly what he wanted, it still came as a pleasant surprise. His tongue was blessed by the heavenly flavours of a meat he couldn’t quite place. It was hot in his mouth and seasoned to perfection. He wondered if it was an organ, or perhaps a thick cut of muscle. It was difficult to discern without having seen it. Wren gladly swallowed it down and opened his mouth, silently asking for more. He just adored Mick’s cooking. Though simplistic and rustic, it never ceased to amaze him. It didn’t pretend to be elegant or exquisite, rather, the flavours and care put into it spoke for it. He was delighted when Mick’s fingers dipped into his mouth and placed yet another piece on his tongue. As he chewed, he pondered what exactly it was. He supposed it didn’t matter, seeing as the taste was simply exquisite. Even better, Mick was hand feeding it to him as if he were royalty.

‘’Roight, after this one, you’re not gettin’ any more unless ya get your lazy arse out of bed.’’ Mick warned and delicately placed another finely cut slither of meat in his mouth.

Wren did not heed the warning. He was quite enjoying this and had no intentions of leaving something so pleasurable behind. Instead of moving, he made a deliberate effort to tempt the bushman into continuing down this route. He sucked on Mick’s fingers, tasting luscious juices as he did so. He decided to open his eyes, but only to see his lover’s reaction to something so blatant.

He was not disappointed. The Australian’s face was kissed pink. It was utterly adorable and he couldn’t help but smile. He snatched the hand that had been so generous as to feed him and kissed each knuckle individually. ‘’What is so outrageous about breakfast in bed?’’ He mumbled and planted a kiss to the back of Mick’s hand.

‘’It’s outrageous ‘cause you’re too slack to even feed yourself. I’m not gonna be mumma bird for ya.’’

‘’You do know that birds regurgitate food for their young, don’t you?’’ He laughed, voice laden with the remnants of his sleep. ‘’I’m rather glad that you will not be doing that for me.’’

Mick giggled in embarrassment. ‘’I meant that I don’t want to spend all mornin’ shovin’ food in your gob for ya.’’

‘’Oh, but wouldn’t it be romantic?’’ He whined dramatically.

‘’But wouldn’t it be a pain in the arse?’’ Mick retorted, imitating his tone with a smile.

A warm feeling emerged from inside. The way the man could make him smile and laugh in a manner that was genuine was just one of the many reasons why he loved him. The impulse to kiss the man took control of him and he shot upward to do so, nearly knocking over the plate as he wrapped his arms around Mick. It caught the bushman by surprise, and he couldn’t fight back when he was smothered by a loving kiss. Wren eventually pulled away, breathless and intoxicated with amor.

‘’You’re so bloody good at that.’’ The Australian sighed out.

‘’I can do it again if you would like.’’ He prompted, leaning in once more.

‘’That would be good, yeah.’’ This time it was Mick that closed the gap entirely. This one was shorter lived but equally as passionate. Mick’s kisses were never shy, despite his blatant inexperience. They were crude, haphazard and clumsy, but also incredibly charming. He felt an immense disappointment when they parted once more. ‘’So are we gonna get out of this damn bed today or what?’’ He gestured toward the door.

‘’Perhaps… I do feel rather awake now.’’ He let his hands trail down Mick’s thigh. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off him.

‘’Let’s get a bloody move on then.’’ Mick ruffled his hair and picked up the plate. ‘’I’ll meet ya outside, yeah?’’

‘’Mhm.’’ He stretched out and yawned to quell the stiffness and tiredness that came from waking up. The scent of oils, meat and the delightful bitterness of coffee flowed in from the kitchen, inspiring his appetite further. He eased himself out of the bed and looked to his phone on the counter.

He needed to call in ‘sick’, and though he knew it to be a necessary formality, he considered avoiding it altogether. He simply despised hearing the voices of those he was forced to work with. It would be a blemish on the purity of this retreat. He knew contamination of his two lives would occur, but he wished the two would never have to meet at all. With great unwillingness, Wren called his superiors and waited for them to pick up. Holding this disgraceful machine never felt natural. He walked through the house as it rang artificially in his ears. Finally, he heard an all too familiar voice.

It was not difficult to instill the distinctive grogginess and nasally sound of illness into his words. It was rather convincing, as his superior quickly picked up that he was calling in sick and barely questioned it at all. This foul person tended to ask with skepticism and disbelief, as if they could not believe those around them were honest. This trait was often considered terribly impolite by his co-workers, however, Wren personally considered it clever. Fortunately, it was not clever enough.

He was promptly given a day off, but kindly reminded that it was unmanageably busy in the clinic. That too was a clever tactic, giving him a nudge and a reminder that his absence would be met with resentment and fury by his co-workers.

Mick was seated just outside on the porch. He was seated with his legs dangling over the edge, shoulders back. His chickens were down below, begging for food. He looked like a model like that, posing for a photograph. The morning sun was on his face and he looked as if he was truly relaxed. There was not an iota of worry or anxiety on his features and he looked like a beautiful farmer boy as he fed his chickens. He couldn’t understand how he could offer such dirty creatures a meal he spent so much time and effort preparing. That said, it brought a warmth to his cold heart.

He filled his plate and joined Mick’s side. He noticed the dark, brown eyes of his chickens widen with excitement at the sight of food. They were akin to a ravenous swarm of flightless, graceless ravens, ready to snatch up any food without guilt or fear. He picked up a small piece of meat and dropped it on the floor for the filthy creatures to fight over. The bushman’s eyes darted to him and a boyish, giddy smile spread on his lips.

‘’Someone’s got a soft spot for my girls, huh?’’ He said and dug an elbow into his side.

‘’I must assure you that I do not. I don’t know what you see in them.’’ He tossed them another piece and watched as they scrambled over it. It was just as amusing as watching children bicker over the last lollipop in the bowl.

‘’I don’t know how ya can hate ‘em so much.’’ He hand fed one of the birds and they ran away with their prize so the others could not steal it. He opened his mouth to justify himself but Mick cut him off. ‘’Yes, Wren, I know they’ve got some salmon shit or whatever ya and your pals call it but they’re friendly ladies and that’s all I care about.’’

‘’Salmonella, Mick. Not ‘salmon shit’.’’ Wren scoffed as he made a start on his breakfast.

The bushman looked at him with utter disbelief. ‘’I don’t think I’ve heard ya curse before. Did your balls drop, luv?’’ Mick teased and grabbed at his crotch.

‘’Savor the sound because it will not happen again.’’ Wren sipped at his coffee. It was better this time, with less milk and seemingly stronger. He had never been a man for profanity. If he were to use such words, it was sparingly and preferably, in his native tongue. He kept his hatred to himself for the most part and thus, he found himself rarely using boorish phrases and words. Such things were reserved for the gruffer and more indecent of folk. He considered himself above such vulgarities… for the most part.

‘’I doubt that.’’ Mick squeezed teasingly and a fiery heat rushed through him. ‘’Way I see it, I’m rubbin’ off on ya.’’

He liked this newfound fearlessness. ‘’In more ways than one, it seems.’’ He chuckled and watched those playful hands fondle him. It was a sight he wished to get used to. He thought to commit this display to memory for later.

‘’Aight, quit it with the snarky comments.’’ Mick replied and stopped entirely, much to his dismay. He knew how foolish it had been to hope for more, especially in this setting.

A tranquil, satisfied silence consumed any possibility for conversation. They ate together with only the clucks of chickens filling the silence. They were practically elbow to elbow, with the morning sun gently kissing their bodies with heat. He felt no impulse to move away from his lover, rather, the closeness was welcome.

Looking around, he couldn’t help but be entranced by the scenery. He had a fondness for the prickliness and grouchy nature of the outback. It was harsh, unforgiving but ultimately, beautiful. He had seen the wildflowers before, and they never failed to take his breath away. In such a barren and dry place, those blooms could simply repaint it into a world of vibrancy. It was that contrast that excited him. The lushness of some places was almost dreamlike when compared to the dry, arid areas. The only thing that got under his skin was the heat. The summers were nearly unbearable.

Mick was the first to finish. He tossed the scraps to the birds and waited for him to do the same. The gesture was incredibly sweet. Thankfully, idleness inspired conversation. ‘’I heard ya on the phone. Pullin’ a sickie, huh?’’

‘’Ja.’’ He nodded.

‘’How many days did ya snag?’’ He sounded excited about it and was likely hoping for more than one.

Wren was well aware that his answer would only disappoint the bushman. ‘’Just one. I’m needed at the clinic, you see.’’

His smile faded immediately. He knew that one day meant he could only stay a few more hours due to the long trip home. ‘’Fuck the damned clinic,’’ He mumbled, brows furrowed. ‘’Can’t ya jus’ call in sick again tomorrah?’’ He sounded desperate.

‘’I’m afraid not. Things are rather hectic at the moment. One of the staff went on long service leave and ever since we have been severely understaffed. I’m needed there, Mick.’’ The last thing he wanted was to return to his everyday life. It would not compare to this. Nothing could. But his absence from one life would be noticed and suspicion would begin to fester. Wren could not live with suspicion. It would slaughter this life, the one he enjoyed.

‘’Luv, can’t ya? For me?’’ He was really pleading now. Though he kept his composure, he found it to be incredibly irritating.

‘’No, dear.’’ What was more irritating was the fact that he had to repeat himself.

‘’Wren…’’ He whined. ‘’Please darlin’. I don’t want ya to go.’’ He grabbed his arm like a needy child. ‘’I don’t want to be alone again!’’

A glare slipped through the filter before he forced his gaze to soften and he kissed the man on the cheek to reassure him. ‘’It won’t be for long, I promise.’’ He whispered into his ear, putting on a tone that worked to soothe and to comfort.

‘’But I’ll miss ya.’’ Mick whined like a sad animal.

‘’I know, Mick.’’ He kissed him on the cheek. ‘’It will go by in a flash, trust me…’’

‘’Don’t bullshit to me, it’s gonna be rubbish without ya around.’’ He huffed.

Wren was growing increasingly impatient. He could not tolerate much more of this. He knew that the bushman would beg, whimper and whine unless he did something. And so, he presented a compromise. ‘’How about this,’’ He began, as if proposing a deal. ‘’You may have my number so that you can call me if you are feeling lonely. That sounds good, ja?’’

The man’s eyes lit up, enticed by the idea. Wren was not nearly as eager. Perhaps he could grow to enjoy a late-night call from a forlorn bushman. He had his doubts, but he supposed anything was possible with a man like Mick. ‘’That’d be real nice.’’

‘’Mm, promise me you will not call me too often. I do not like to be interrupted.’’ He reminded, thinking ahead.

‘’Of course, darlin’. I know you’re a busy bloke.’’ With minimal difficulty, Mick was able to put his number in. Wren wished he was as competent. He had never been a natural with technology. His peers often mocked him for it, despite the fact that most of them were far younger than he was. He did not enjoy the thought of his peers. Especially not now. They were all insufferable in a unique way. Some were rude, others were irritable, others impatient and some frustratingly friendly.

As if detecting his agitation, Mick leant onto his shoulder, letting out a contented sigh as he did so. ‘’…Sometimes I think that this is all a dream.’’ He mumbled, eyes looking out to the vast expanse of bushland that surrounded the old house like a sea.

‘’It often feels like one.’’ Wren added. He leant against Mick’s head and felt his hair tickle his cheek. ‘’Just know that I have no plans to wake from it.’’ This sort of intimacy was welcome. He loved the warmth of the other man, how it lingered even in the soft breeze.

‘’I love it when you talk like that.’’ Mick mumbled. His voice was nearly carried away by the powerful arms of the breeze. ‘’You’re always sayin’ beautiful things and maybe it’s all bullshit but I like it. Nobody talks like you do. Especially not ‘round here. Most of this lot can hardly make up a decent sentence.’’ 

Mick’s sentiments allowed a sour feeling of despair to manifest at the thought of being without this beautiful man. His kind words reminded him of just how much he loved him.

Wren cupped the bushman’s chin and tilted his head to face him. He stroked Mick’s plump bottom lip with his thumb, feeling the soft flesh. It brought out a nagging desire to bite. He wanted to feel the ample flesh tear and taste the bushman’s blood, have it in his mouth and on his body. He wanted it all over him, covering and painting his pale skin. He would donate his in kind and allow the other man’s teeth to sink into his throat. They would tear into his flesh and his prize would ooze out, ready to be sampled and tasted. Wren wanted scars, the sort that would linger for weeks, ensuring that all could see the work of his lover. The thought of having both his and Mick’s blood on his body mixing together into a proud expression of devotion was nothing less than exhilarating.

Mick’s brows furrowed. ‘’You aight?’’ He asked, lips downturned with concern.

‘’I’m perfectly fine. I merely got a little distracted.’’ He must have been lost in his own thoughts for some time for the bushman to notice.

‘’I can tell.’’ Those hands practically shot down to his abdomen and felt along his length. ‘’What were ya thinkin’ about, darlin’?’’ Mick pinched the head, just lightly. It made him squirm in delight. ‘’It must’ve been bloody good to get ya so worked up.’’

‘’It is not at all difficult to guess.’’ He said, inviting this coy game right to his doorstep.

‘’It wasn’t me, was it?’’ Mick sighed out sarcastically.

‘’It was very much you.’’ He played along. Smiling from ear to ear.

‘’Oh, c’mon, luv’. I’m not worth this much trouble, am I?’’ He scoffed in disbelief. His eyes went downward, only adding to his point.

‘’You are worth all of it and more.’’ He hoped that the bushman would consider that an invitation. All of this teasing was making him desperate. He was rapidly growing tired of it. He needed the playing to end. He wanted something fulfilling. He wanted _satisfaction._ The illusion of patience broke and desperation set in. He pulled Mick’s wrists and dragged those masculine, calloused hands to his abdomen. ‘’You’re failing to understand just how much I adore you.’’ He offered every aspect of his body to the bushman, to be savoured, touched and adored. He surrendered to it, allowing Mick to grace his body with his love and lust if he so desired. He simultaneously despised and delighted in the control Mick had over him. His virginity was a constant temptation that dangled before his eyes like a carrot on a string. Unfortunately, it was out of reach until its cruel owner allowed him to have it.

And he would have it, in time.

‘’C’mon, luv’, I made ya brekky and now ya want me to help ya out?’’

‘’Consider it a favour, of which I would be particularly grateful for.’’ He purred out the words, luring the man in with the promise of generously paying him back.

‘’Aight, aight, as long as I can call that in later.’’ Mick surrendered. At last this long game of teasing and taunting was over. Excitement bubbled inside of him. He had been waiting for this, hungering for it and now his lover would feed him.

He watched Mick’s hand wrap around his member like a snake. His thumb stroked the head, spreading his pre-cum like lube. Thankfully, the bushman knew that wouldn’t be enough. He spat in his hand, parodying gruffer men. His saliva blanketed his cock with warmth and slickness. Mick began at a slow pace, inspiring curiosity within Wren. Most would begin in a hurry, it seemed Mick had other plans. His strokes were slow and torturous, leaving ripples of pleasure to rush through his eager system, only to not be sated. He loved how it tormented and excited his system. It would make him sensitive to even the slightest of changes.

‘’You like that, don’t ya?’’ Mick sneered, pumping his manhood with vigour and a slow sort of passion. It caused the pleasure to well up in his abdomen and transform into a growing, swirling whirlpool of heat with the tantalising potential to overflow if the pressure became too great to bear. It would take time to grow, especially at the bushman’s pace. He supposed he wouldn’t mind the wait. Something more drawn out would be incredibly satisfying by the end.

‘’I do…’’ He whimpered, submissive to his touch. ‘’Though I must wonder if you’re like this in bed.’’ The thought was enough to make his mouth water. Gentle and enduring sex was always more fulfilling and rewarding, not to mention the intimacy of it was simply beyond compare. Haste was childish and desperate. It sullied everything it touched. ‘’I certainly wouldn’t mind, if so…’’ He watched that hand work on him and the sight made a gush of heat flow through him as if it were a firework.

‘’I wouldn’t know, darlin’.’’ His answer was honest, raw and tinged with excitement. He and Mick both wanted to explore this together and it was apparent in the way he talked so breathily, with the thrill of it on his tongue. ‘’I don’t know jack shit, really. I can’t even remember the last time I gave one’a these out.’’ Wren pitied him. He couldn’t help it. Mick was so devoid of contact from others. That isolation was on constant display with the bushman’s behaviour being less than… adequate. Wren considered it his responsibility to help him in that department, especially if those in his normal life were to know about Mick. While Wren could tolerate his less than ‘normal’ behaviours, others would not. He had already thought about taking him out to dinners or making him tag along to social events. He knew the bushman would hate every second of those outings, but they would at least expose him to the world beyond his lonely country manor.

‘’Poor boy… I must catch you up with everything you have been missing.’’ Wren used up his pity in those words, letting it flow out of him into the open air.

‘’Sounds like an offer to me.’’ He said, grinning.

‘’You know me too well.’’ He replied, slowly moving away. The devilish smirk that spread upon his lips at the thought of what he was about to do could not be stifled. He had been waiting for an opportunity like this.

Wren licked his lips.

**~***~**

The doctor had this way of making himself into an incubus if the mood struck him. His demeanour could change from cold and elegant to seductive and sprightly in the blink of an eye. He gave him a look to entice him, to draw him in like a bogan to cheap grog. It worked.

‘’Part those gorgeous legs for me, won’t you?’’ Wren hopped off the porch, opting for the grass below instead.

‘’Woah, luv’. I know you’re real excited but you don’t want to do anythin’ there. There’s prickles in that grass, y’know.’’ Mick warned, tugging his hair to drag him away before he did anything stupid. Those prickly bastards hurt. Once or twice they had gotten into his socks on a bushwalk and he could hardly rip them out.

‘’Oh.’’ He said, looking down at the yellowing, dried grass he was standing on. ‘’Is there perhaps a better place to do this?’’

‘’How ‘bout we go to bed? It’d be a lot comfier, I reckon.’’ He rose up, grabbing the plates on the way. Wren hopped up and tailed behind. Mick discarded the plates by the sink, to be washed up later. Wren grew impatient and he basically dragged him by the wrists into the bedroom.

‘’Sit, sit.’’ Wren ordered him like a dog and simultaneously like his most prized possession. He did just that and hopped onto the bed. He spread his legs, practically putting his dick on display. Wren’s eyes darted down to his manhood and he saw a smirk growing on his thin lips. The doctor crawled onto the bed and seductively skulked towards him. He approached like a snake ready to gobble up a possum. He only hoped the bloke would have the self-control not to devour him. With all the hungry looks he’d been getting, he was nervous.

All Mick’s fear was thrown out the window when the doctor trailed kisses down his belly. Wren’s dark hair tickled his abdomen, and he dipped his head to lick the tip of his cock. That alone was enough to make him want the doctor to take it all in. He wanted to see that pretty face suck him off. Wren savoured the moment, rubbing his nose along the shaft to take in his scent. He let out a satisfied little sound as he did so.

‘’You’re a bloody freak, y’know that?’’ He said, watching the German suckle on just the tip. It made him feel warm and tingly inside.

He pulled away to speak. ‘’Unfortunately, you will have to tolerate my peculiarities.’’

‘’It’s not unfortunate. I like all of ya, even the weird shit.’’ He ran his fingers through the bloke’s hair.

‘’It didn’t sound like it just then.’’ Wren teased. He moved lower to the shaft and ran his tongue from the base to the head in a manner that was deliberately showy and provocative. He kissed the head gently before stroking the slit with the tip of his tongue. The teasing, brief strokes sent waves of heat and pressure through his body like tingly, pleasant fire. The German tortured his senses by licking, kissing and only lightly sucking the tip. It was driving him mad with anticipation and he grew more and more impatient by the second.

‘’I thought you’d be in a hurry, luv’.’’ He thought aloud.

Wren smirked with pride. ‘’A bit of anticipation makes it all so much better, dear.’’ Another kiss sent a shudder through him. ‘’And while I do enjoy something animalistic and desperate it is not the same.’’ He sighed out. ‘’If it’s over too soon… it leaves no impact and it’s all very… _disappointing_. You wouldn’t want that, would you?’’

‘’I s’pose not.’’ He shrugged. Wren knew more than he did, anyway. There was no harm in trusting a professional.

He saw the beginnings of a smile and Wren shot Mick one last naughty glance before enveloping the whole thing in his mouth. The warmth and saliva was like a soft, cuddly blanket around his cock and it made him feel nostalgic for his teenage years, before it all got so miserable. It was a comfortable and thrilling feeling. It made pressure build in his abdomen and sent ripples of something exciting and needy through him. It made him want more, a _lot_ more.

Wren was almost like a performer. Everything was deliberate and done with class. If Mick were to do the same it would look ugly and messy. And knowing him, it’d also be unenthusiastic and confused. Wren sucked him off like he really fucking loved it. It was overwhelmingly flattering, and his face grew warmer until it was so hot that it could burn.

And then all at once, Wren pulled away. The warmth and wetness was replaced by cool air and he immediately wanted to shove himself back in. The doctor’s head dipped lower and he felt a twinge of fear before he realised what was happening. He felt the older man’s mouth around his testicles and the gentle, experimental stroke of a tongue sent a burst of gratification through him. Knowing that he wouldn’t protest, Wren put them in his mouth and massaged them with pressure and his tongue. A whimper escaped Mick as the older man sucked harder, trying desperately to please him.

‘’Jesus, luv’, are you tryin’ to eat me or gimme a blowie?’’ He laughed at the bloke’s eagerness. It was almost insane how enthusiastic he was about it.

Wren released everything to talk. ‘’To be honest with you, I wouldn’t mind either.’’ He looked lively, with wild eyes, a picture-perfect smile and rosy cheeks. God, he was beautiful. ‘’Ah… but with this pretty thing before my eyes it might have to be the latter.’’ By now, his cock was standing proudly upright, reddened and swollen and so agonisingly sensitive.

‘’Thank fuck for that, eh?’’ Mick ruffled his dark hair.

‘’Mhm…’’ Wren’s pink tongue slid up from the base to the head and then he sucked on the tip of his penis, flicking his tongue against the slit as he did so. A jolt of something depraved rushed through his body, demanding more. He felt a twitch and a series of tantalising pulses, which only intensified when Wren took all of him in. He bobbed up and down on his dick, eagerly taking it all in. It rubbed against his throat and Mick couldn’t help but mewl in delight. It was so warm and tight. It felt like a soft heaven against him. He could already feel the pressure building within, growing and growing until he wouldn’t be able to take it anymore. He became breathless and desperate to feel the other man all over him. He felt the low hum of a moan and his cock twitched. He was already so close. He could blame it on his age or on his inexperience but in reality it was Wren. He was far too good at this and his body couldn’t compete with him.

Another twitch and it seemed that Wren felt it. He reeled back and offered a teasing smile. ‘’It’s very cute that you’re almost done.’’ The doctor said breathlessly before kissing along his length, sending waves of heat through him.

‘’You’re jus’ very good at this.’’ He reluctantly admitted, swallowing his pride.

‘’I know.’’ Wren’s breaths were rapid and his voice was airy. Even that was hot. He couldn’t place why.

Wren began to work with his hand instead, with his spit working as lube. His manhood was pumped quickly and with energy. The sudden change of pace worked wonders and he was soon panting with need. He felt his climax coming and jumbled sentences flowed out of his mouth, both begging his lover to finish him off and all sorts of mushy ‘I love you’s. He felt like an idiot saying all that rubbish but he meant it. He was just about delusional with the pleasure and need to get off that he’d say anything.

The older man worked him faster and opened his mouth out wide, revealing his pink mouth and inviting tongue. He knew what the bloke wanted and that it disturbed him somewhat but he couldn’t care less. Wren would have exactly what he wanted. His dick twitched in Wren’s hand, pulsing with impatience. He was so ready. His peak was so dangerously close and by god did he want to reach it. He watched as Wren reached down with his other hand and skilfully fondled his own cock. He heard his breath shudder and shake as he held his cock. Watching the German touch himself brought him to the edge and with a final twitch, he came. Cum spurted from the head and stripes painted his lover’s face. Mick found himself blindly thrusting into the doctor’s hand as he milked him.

He slumped, breathless and overwhelmed. It was all so much, in the best way imaginable. He watched with a mix of fear and adoration as the doctor swept up his cum with his fingers and lapped it up. It was terrifying but ungodly levels of attractive. His other hand was busy, jerking himself off.

‘’Luv’, I can take care of ya if ya want.’’ Even though it was fascinating to watch, his instincts told him to help.

‘’ _Please_ do _..._ ’’ Wren begged, letting go of himself to give Mick access.

As soon as he laid hands on the bloke’s manhood, Wren threw his head back and spread his legs further. ‘’I love you, schatz.’’ He sighed. From there it all became incomprehensible strings of foreign words beyond his understanding. All of which sounded filthy and definitely graphic. He only wished he could understand. He’d never heard the man talk so much and so quickly. He could feel his cock twitching in his hand, ready to climax. Wren himself seemed just as ready, as he mewled and groaned with so much passion and intensity it sounded like he was having the best time of his life. With a final lustful sound, he came. It was loud and filled to the brim with ecstasy and it was in moments like these when he was thankful that he didn’t have neighbours.

*******

Wren cleaned himself up and returned holding a rag. The familiar prissy and haughty look had returned to his face and he handed the cloth to him.

‘’Cheers, darlin’.’’ He said and scrubbed off his own body.

‘’No, I should be thanking you.’’ Wren leaned in and planted a kiss on his forehead. ‘’You did so well… I had a wonderful time.’’

‘’I don’t think I’ve ever heard ya talk so bloody fast.’’ He commented, smirking at the bloke.

‘’I tend to lose my filter in those moments. It was all eroticised nonsense anyhow.’’ Wren dismissed the convo with a wave of his hand.

‘’Except for when ya told me ya love me.’’ He pulled Wren closer to him and their lips brushed.

He was only given a brief peck before the doctor responded. ‘’That I do.’’ He said lowly. ‘’Very much so.’’ He was given another. Wren nuzzled into the touch. ‘’Unfortunately, I must ruin this moment and say that I must be going soon. I need to gather my things.’’

‘’I know.’’ He mumbled, voice tinged with sadness. ‘’Your glasses are still outside. Same with your shirt I think.’’

‘’Thank you, dear.’’ He said, picking up his slacks off of the floor and putting them on. He got into his boots and then walked out the door. Mick was unsure of what to do. He was seated on the bed, waiting for his only company to leave. It all felt awkward.

Wren returned, buttoning his shirt as he went. ‘’There isn’t any blood on me, is there?’’ He pushed up his glasses. Mick had gotten so used to him without them that he looked almost like a stranger with them on. Wren was right about them. He looked less threatening. Soft, almost.

He stood up and circled the doctor like a shark. He carefully looked for stains of any sort and turned up nothing. ‘’Stunnin’ as always, darl’.’’

‘’Danke.’’ He said, a smile teasing his lips.

They stood together in silence for an awkward moment. It felt like an eternity and a blink of an eye at the same time.

Wren cleared his throat. ‘’Well then, I suppose this is goodbye.’’

‘’For now.’’ He reminded, leaning in close.

‘’For now, yes.’’ Wren nodded. ‘’I will miss you, liebling.’’ A soft kiss was planted on his lips as a goodbye.

‘’I’m gonna miss ya too.’’ He stroked Wren’s cheek, feeling the warmth under his thumb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I have a new profile picture that isn't a stock photo  
> I absolutely love it  
> It was drawn by Conmenn, their socials are on my profile if you're interested <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like 5.5k words of mutual pining!  
> heads up that there's a bit of filth in this one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, huh? As much as I love Insatiable, I missed this one so, so much.

Wren made it home just before sunset.

To some degree, he was thankful to be home. He was exhausted, like a machine that had run out of steam. His desire to rest had just about doubled the moment he had returned to the beautiful, familiar palace that was his home. His legs ached as he walked through to the kitchen, the nagging pains begging him for the relief brought upon by sleep. He opened the fridge and felt a jolt of soreness through his arm, the pain pleading louder and louder. He put the delightful package of meats in and felt an unusual optimism spark in him, threatening to grow into a heated, powerful flame with the potential to change him for the better.

It was such a simple thing, and yet, he felt a sanguineness about it. Mick had insisted that he take some of their winnings home and given him detailed, verbal instructions of how to cook it all, which he certainly wouldn’t remember by tomorrow. Regardless, the promise of a meal truly suited to a man like himself was nothing short of intoxicating.

Wren stretched out and relief rushed through him as tension melted away with a series of cracks and pops. He undressed on his way to the bedroom, emptying his pockets of a particular prize and discarded his clothes straight into the wash. He held his prize in his palm and took a moment to admire it.

A single tooth, pulled out with care. It was perfect in every way. He would remember this one, a memento to a wonderful experience. He locked it away with the rest, scowling at the way his fingers marked his stainless box with red dirt.

He often wondered how Mick could tolerate that accursed dirt. It seemed to seep into everything, whether it was his pristine white shirt, on his car or even under his nails… it was simply inescapable. Perhaps he would get used to it with time, just like the bushman.

Wren often found it fascinating how he felt no consternation when it came to Mick. This was all so different to his past relationships, in that he was barely tailoring his words, never stowing secrets behind locked doors or hiding what he was. There was no fear of him finding out, as he already knew. In the past, that knowledge shredded not only relationships, but lives as well. But in this case, it had brought them together into what could be a permanent arrangement.

He paused on that thought, feeling the world freeze around him. Permanence was a new sentiment, based on a pure, fanciful inclinations he hadn’t experienced prior. He had never pondered such romanticised things! Never in his life had he even considered it. Not even with past partners. He had never dared. In the past, such a thing would have been catastrophic, as the unavoidable closeness meant that his secrets would be revealed. But now, there were no secrets. There was no hiding, no pretending or faking. It was all known, all accepted and even _desired_. It all felt like _love._

He was of the opinion that twisted, evil men like them weren’t supposed to fall in love, or even to be accepted. Sinful men did not deserve bliss. He and Mick were likely never supposed to meet, and yet, pure luck had brought them together. Or maybe, it was simply meant to be. Either way – whether he deserved this or not – he wanted to have it forever.

To Wren, the concept of matrimony was no longer a nightmare, rather, a beautiful fantasy.

The world clicked back into motion, as if a cog had been returned to its rightful place in grand clock. As he was putting on a fresh change of clothes, his eyes met with the magnificent antlers that hung like hooks from the wall. A sense of nostalgia welled up from within and an unfamiliar sentimentality filled him. Wren felt along the branching ivory. He would never tire of the feel of such a precious and personalised gift. He could still see that boy, impaled on the sharp lances and oozing blood – a live offering to him, designed to charm and to please. It had been a clear message, the aftermath of said message had brought him into a truly fulfilling partnership. And thus, a seemingly innocuous object held a disproportionate amount of fondness.

He was aware that a significant portion of that fondness was formulated upon the love he had for Mick. Even now, he felt it embedded deep inside of his being, slowly growing and developing with every passing moment.

He wondered if the bushman was experiencing the same sensation.

**~***~**

Mick had nearly forgotten how quiet it was around the house.

He already missed the sound of Wren’s voice, his warm presence and his lovely smile. It was dull without him. Every sound seemed to echo in the old house, only reminding him that he was completely alone. He put the radio on, and the static burned through the silence before transforming into dull, bland chatter. The hosts were as boring as ever and more frustrating than entertaining, but he would gladly take it over the horrible quiet. The sound of voices was soothing to his anxious mind and it settled, like rocks sinking to the seafloor to be weathered away into sand.

The worst part of all of this was that Mick had been preparing himself for it. He knew that the second Wren left that he would be bombarded with a whole mob of ugly emotions. Right now, it felt like the lot of them were clutching pitchforks and torches and gradually closing in on him. If he kept himself busy, he could probably fight the horde off, just as he used to do.

Mick left the device on even as he went to bed. He thought that a distant mumble would help him sleep, or at least make him feel a bit more at ease. He tossed his shirt to the ground and wriggled under the blankets. The softness was comforting, like a cuddle made of fluff. He pulled his pillow to his chest, clutching it tightly in a hug. It made him feel a touch better, but only reminded him of how pathetic of a bloke he was. Nothing had changed. He thought that maybe being around Wren for so long would have… fixed him somehow. But it hadn’t done a thing. He was just as broken as before and he felt as if he was on life support.

And for the moment, the plug had been ripped out.

*******

_When he came to, the first thing he felt was the splatter of a raindrop against his ear. The soft shield of wings over him was now absent. He looked to the sky, where grey clouds loomed from above, weeping saltless tears. He looked around the nest, searching for the leader of the flock. No matter where he looked, he couldn’t find a trace of him, nor any members of the murder. There were only black feathers. There seemed to be hundreds of them, scattered like darts. And yet, there wasn’t a single bird in sight. For once, the nest was silent. No caws sounded over the landscape, in fact, it was silent._

_The silence opened the door for a raw, violent panic. It bit into the very core of his being, ripping up his nerves and sending a corrupted mix of fear and adrenaline through him. The flock was gone. They had left him in a nest of death and decay to fend for himself. They had abandoned him! And now, he would join the mound of gore. He would starve and succumb to the cold and rot into nothing more than bile. Maybe that was what they wanted. Maybe they pretended to accept him so that he would feel safe. Maybe they would come back and eat him alive._

_Mick shuddered in the cold. It felt as if his very bones had been soaked with water. He began to shiver, with chills running through him. His teeth chattered, desperately trying to create warmth. He hugged himself, trying desperately to stave off the cold. He knew he wouldn’t last long. He couldn’t._

_He kept his eyes on the sky, hoping and waiting for a flock that may never return._

**~***~**

After a delightful breakfast, Wren made his way to the clinic.

He returned to the sterile, dull place as a prisoner returns to their cell. Unfortunately, he was bound to this place by a paycheque. In theory, he could retire. But he felt that he should continue to work in favour of his image. One wouldn’t suspect a working man of wrongdoing. Especially if that man bore a friendly smile and sported a good reputation. However, there was a nagging fear that he could not return to that innocent illusion after freeing himself from it for so long.

That fear proved to be foolish, as the moment he walked through the doors, he had no problems greeting the girl at the desk with a chipper smile. He liked this time in the morning, when the establishment was not yet open to the public. It carried a different atmosphere, akin to the calmness before a storm, where the clouds were huddled together to form a dark blanket as if to comfort the sky itself.

Wren was hoping to make it to his desk without conversing with his co-workers, but it seemed that hope would die.

‘’Look who it is!’’ One pointed to him crudely. Their smile was mocking, almost demeaning. ‘’What happened, Wren? We all thought you were mister punctual.’’

It was worrying to know that his change in behaviour had been noticed. ‘’I had a sore throat and decided it would be best to stay home.’’ He lied flawlessly. ‘’I’m well now, so there is no need to worry.’’ It rolled off his tongue effortlessly. It was in that moment when he had no doubts that he could easily slide back into his façade.

‘’Good to know.’’

With that, he was allowed to escape this fruitless conversation and retreat to the safety of his desk. Before long, he would be subjected to a never-ending onslaught people to deal with. But for the moment, he was in paradise and free to do as he pleased for a few precious minutes.

His fingers idly strummed his desk as he sought a short activity to busy himself with. He tinkered with his watch, stared out the window and tidied his desk to pass the time.

The moment he ran out of little things to do, a patient walked through the door, sealing his fate. The harbinger of death was a new visitor, a tired looking middle-aged woman. He could see what the problem the very moment she entered, as her face was flushed, with an intense redness from the cheeks to the ears and even in the eyes, which were watery. He couldn’t help but notice how she stared at him, and how her eyes trailed up the scar on his face.

Wren chose to ignore the blatant gawking, despite the fact that it was rude. ‘’Please, take a seat.’’ He said it kindly, with a plastic smile.

She sniffled as she sat down. She explained her symptoms with about as much finesse as he expected. Regardless of how specific her testimony was, he knew just what to prescribe. But as he went to sign the documents, he paused.

It would be so easy to misdiagnose her. It would be so incredibly simple to get her the wrong medication and potentially worsen the symptoms… And with the added bonus of the smoker’s disease – emphysema – such a thing could be fatal. It would be slow and agonising, the perfect game. He could be the one to send a written invitation to death and bring it to her doorstep in one move. But alas, he would never see the results of that ingenious move.

He decided against it. Wren reluctantly signed off on the prescription and handed it over.

As he dealt with patients one by one, he felt genuinely jolly. Some of the happy persona became authentic as natural mirth bled into every aspect of his being. A break had been good for him. He found himself laughing at jokes he would have otherwise found immature and unpleasant, shaking hands with enthusiasm and having an interest in conversations that he would have considered dull and mundane.

The day raced by quickly and he wondered why he had been so reluctant to come back.

**~***~**

Mick sanded down the blade, filing the point to perfection. He traced it with his fingers and pricked it on the sharp tip. When it cut him, he knew that it was just right. He sucked the blood off and admired his handiwork. It had taken some time to get it all sharp, sturdy and beautiful. With some work, he could make the edges serrated, or decorate the blade itself. But for now, his focus was on making something useful.

Now he just had to make the handle. He pondered what he could use. While he could use more of the leg bones, he thought that Wren would like something a little more creative and pretty. He looked at the skeleton he’d laid out on the table. The dim lights of the shed didn’t do his thinking process many favours. He looked at it head to toe, thinking of how this empty husk used to be a simple girl, a girl he had killed with Wren. And it seemed fitting to Mick, to make him a gift out of their victim.

The bone he chose would have to be strong but also aesthetically pleasing. He looked at the skull and worked downward. His eyes locked on the jawbone and refused to leave until he at least thought about using it. It was sturdy, sure, but would it be practical? He inspected the bottom jaw closely and figured he could use at least part of it as a handle. It would be a right cunt to cut off, but if he did it well, the doctor would love it.

With the aid of some power tools, he was able to get what he needed: a bit less than half of the jawbone with the teeth still attached and in perfect condition. There were molars, premolars and incisors there. He washed it thoroughly, cleaning it with care. He could almost feel the glee of making his lover a gift, especially one he would really adore. He could express his love for the bloke with more than just words – which he was rubbish at – and instead in the form of a special gift, made just for him. Even though he was busy, he still longed to see Wren again.

Mick missed him. Badly. The more he thought about him, the more Mick needed him by his side. Being alone was rapidly driving him crazy. It felt like he would go mental before long. He knew it would get harder and harder to stay on top of his feelings. He knew that they would eventually overpower him and break him in two. But he had to keep on fighting them. He just had to wait it out.

But how long would he be waiting?

He smoothed out the coarse bone. Sanding always took time, and so, his thoughts began to stray away from reality.

His mind wandered backwards, into the past. He went to a day from long ago, one he could never forget. It was a foggy, hazy memory that he remembered a little differently every time. It had been a simpler time, when things were black and white. There was no evil, no misery, no grief and no fear. He recalled being a little boy, when the world seemed so much bigger and running to his mum, teddy in hand. She had lifted him into her loving arms, keeping him close. He couldn’t remember her face, no matter how hard he tried. He wished that he could just… see her. He remembered being kissed and coddled, as if he were precious.

Precious was a good way to put how he felt when he was with Wren.

And it all faded away. He was back in the modern day, sanding the handle. He wiped the tears from his eyes. It felt smooth now. Like cream if it was solid. He attached it to the blade and went to work on decorating it.

**~***~**

After that slight hitch, Wren was back on track. He calmed himself with a delicious lunch and a well earned break and got back to work. He returned to civility and was able to deal with even the most irritating of people with patience.

However, irritability had been replaced with an equally dangerous beast; concupiscence. Thoughts of violence had transformed into unconstrained eroticism. He found himself daydreaming, constructing lewd acts in his mind, picturing them in vivid detail. He could not stop them from coming, no matter how much he tried to concentrate on what was real. This world of fantasy was just too appealing to ignore. It was seductive, tantalising and pleasing, unlike reality. And the best part was that his romanticised little dreams could come true. It would take time, but eventually, they would. And he was so looking forward to it.

As his imagination was busy, the rest of him actually behaved like an employee. He did his job and he did it well. He didn’t stammer, misunderstand or mishear. It was clear, yet foggy.

That fogginess allowed time to tick by quickly, and he could return home before he knew it.

Even though it was bumper to bumper traffic all the way to the suburbs, he didn’t mind. He merely put the radio on and relaxed. He made it home in one piece and in a somewhat tranquil state. Wren strolled inside, whistling a tune. He poured himself a glass of wine and went into the bedroom to get changed out of his stiff work clothes.

Wren undressed ungracefully, as there was no-one to impress. He collected his clothes but halted completely. He looked to the bed, pondering something unsavoury. He could end this day on a very good note if he so chose. He could satisfy at least one aspect of his fantasies.

 _Himself_.

Wren hopped onto the bed, feeling anticipation bubbling excitedly in his chest. He rested on his knees, hearing them crack upon going into a new position. He pondered what he would do. The result would be the same no matter what he chose. But he did have a particular craving, one he fully intended to sate. He tugged a pillow between his legs. He knew what he was about to do would make a mess, but his lust took all priority. Besides, it was about time to change the sheets anyway.

Wren started simply by rolling his hips and rubbing his cock against the soft fabric, teasing a soft gasp out of him. He had been desperate for stimulation all day and he had even pondered relieving himself on his lunch break. But this was worth the wait. Even the slightest nudge back and forth was more than enough to feed the ravenous creature that was his imagination. He closed his eyes, allowing salacious imagery to drown his senses. He thought of his lover, bare below him, spread wide with a glittery eagerness in his emerald eyes. Mick would be shy, nervous and just a touch frightened. It’s understandable. He is virginal, after all. But his fear is as delicious as it is alluring. He cannot resist something so tempting. His rhythm had begun long ago without him even realising it. Wren imagined whispering reassurances, saying sweet words he didn’t fully mean. He could almost feel the tightness and the rush of taking the final shred of his innocence. He can almost hear the gruff, needy sounds that sound from the other man.

A fervid, filthy moan escaped him. He imagined his lover begging for it hard and fast, pleading for something desperate, passionate and lecherous. They were pleas to be violated and made into a whimpering, shaking mess. Wren’s pace hastened. His mind raced just as fast with praises, images and sensations. He gripped the sheets hard, turning his knuckles a ghostly white, contrasting with the rest of him which had bloomed to be a violent pink. Heat and desire pulsed through his system with every thrust, leaving a nagging hunger for more.

He changed position, instead opting to lie on top of the pillow. He resumed immediately, rubbing his rapidly hardening cock all over the heavenly material. He could blame his vivid imagination for that fact. He was aware that this could never be equal to the real thing, but by god was he enjoying every second of it. He grew more passionate with the second, rolling his hips faster and harder to coincide with his fantasies. He dreamt of the bushman’s cum painting his chest as he practically screamed with pleasure. Such an early climax had been brought upon by all of the new sensations combined with his inexperience. Though most would be disappointed by the earliness of it, he was not most. It only excited him further to have someone so… _pure._

The very nature of his thoughts shifted. They twisted and distorted, transforming into a sinister, perverted vision and yet… it was beautiful. He bit into the sheets, imagining flesh splitting under his teeth. He pictured blood flowing into his mouth as he ripped the skin, smearing on his features and coating his tongue. To him, such a thing was the very precipice of intimacy, to truly experience the man he so desired, to not only have him in bed but to taste and savour his very flesh and blood. He imagined being bitten back, with the same ferocity and passion. It would hurt terribly but the pain would only feed his coming orgasm. 

The fantasy melted away like wax as the need to hit his peak took over. He bucked wildly, losing any semblance of a rhythm. His breath hitched as the heat rushed through him, threatening to spill his seed. He was so very close and in moments he would be pushed over the edge, into a fleeting euphoria. Everything was hot, pulsating and it all felt so _good._ He could hardly think. Every cohesive sentence had been dissolved into a jumble of words by his coming high. His breath was stolen from him, only adding to his light-headedness. He felt his system just tumble over that edge and all at once, he let go. He was left shaking and stupefied as he reached utter bliss for a precious few moments.

**~***~**

Mick had dinner alone. He sat outside as usual and looked up to the stars. He let out a sigh, which made a small cloud of steam in the cold. Thankfully, the plate was hot on his legs, so the icy winds didn’t bother him.

What did bother him, however, was the fact that he was eating alone again. It just didn’t feel right to feast upon the game he caught with Wren without the bloke there to enjoy it with him. Sure, he’d given the bloke a fair amount to take home, but it simply wasn’t the same. It wasn’t intimate or nice. It was just cold and sad. He was so lonely, just as he was before. He was having his dinner all by himself, just as he did before. And he was feeling as miserable as he once was.

Only ghosts and memories would keep him company tonight.

Time seemed to be going slower now. It was no longer racing by, but instead, crawling along as if its legs had been sawed off. Every minute was agonising. Though he kept himself busy with little activities, he couldn’t seem to escape the heartache he felt. It infected every thought, poisoned his happiness, and made his brain feel sick. It upset all of him, to the point where he was even reluctant to eat.

**~***~**

The following days only got worse.

Wren had to deal with a string of bothersome people, from paranoid parents, to talkative old folk, to repulsively filthy children. By the end of it all, Wren was desperate to get home. Perhaps this was his punishment for trying to enjoy himself or a cruel joke on him for finally finding something to enjoy. Either way, he was already tired of it. He was so close to coming unwound, as if his carefully knitted disguise was being pulled apart, thread by thread until the twisted being inside became fully visible. He had to stitch it back together.

It was maddening, to have to cope with such horrid people. And then, as if to punish him for thinking that, a pair of less than delightful people came in.

A father and daughter, holding hands. The girl was evidently nervous, and she failed to meet his gaze, even though he made an effort to appear friendly. The father gave him a nod in the place of a wave. The child clutched her frilly, pink dress as her father did all the talking. She needed a chickenpox vaccination. But with how she tucked her hair behind her ears and chewed at her lips, it would be easier said than done.

Wren was not good with children. Especially _frightened_ children.

He prepared the vaccination and listened to the chatter between the two. Nervousness filled every word, staining them like ink. Wren knew that he was treading on dangerous territory, and in order for this to go smoothly, he would need to do this with the upmost care.

With a syringe in hand, he approached the duo. He made a point of not showing the threatening needle to her.

He put on a gentle tone, like the one he used for Mick when he was vulnerable. ‘’Please roll up your sleeve.’’ He asked it kindly and sweetly, attempting to calm her. Tiny hands rolled up the hot pink sleeve. The father was just as conscious, as he held her hand to comfort her. The little girl was trembling and shaking like a leaf in the wind. ‘’Don’t look.’’ He said as he readied the needle. ‘’This will only hurt a little bit, I promise.’’

The sharp needle punctured the skin and she yelped. He slowly pushed in the vaccine and at the last second, she turned to look, disobeying his simple instructions. She turned pale and he watched in horror as tears welled up in her eyes at the sight.

Her blue eyes met his and that was the last straw.

She began to sob and scream wildly. He managed to get the last of the syringe’s contents into her before pulling it out. He couldn’t stand the sound. The horrid screech and animal-like wail of the child ripped into his patience, chewing it up like a ravenous wolf until only anger remained. He could not tolerate such vile sounds. He heard the father apologising over and over but he did not process them. His face burned hot with anger and he nearly crushed the syringe in his hand with how hard he squeezed it. A thousand different thoughts ran through his mind, commanding him to silence the damned girl in any way possible, whether it was a good scolding, a proper spanking, or a blade to the gullet. He needed it to cease!

The worst part was that he had to ignore every single order. Though they screamed and yelled, only adding to the noise, he had to disobey. He wasn’t free to listen to his compulsions anymore. He was trapped in the skin of someone else, he couldn’t be violent. He couldn’t succumb. He had to lock himself away, chain his violent tendencies up and gag his hateful mouth until only kindness would spill from his lips.

He took a deep breath, suffocating his true, twisted self in the process. He counted to five, calming himself. The hulking parent thanked him on the way out as he took his daughter out to the reception desk, freeing him of that abysmal sound.

Wren looked to the clock. At last, he could finally go home. He could be free of all of this for a few hours. He left as soon as humanly possible. He didn’t offer a single soul in the clinic a goodbye.

Wren rushed the drive home, feeling the anger radiating off of his very skin as traffic slowed to a complete stop. He was forced to wait as the cars moved along in a slow trickle. Eventually, it was moving again and he made it home late. By now, it felt as if he was burning. Fury lined every thought, heated every breath and made him tense. He tossed his bag to the ground, disregarding the condition of the items inside. He practically ripped his tie off, throwing it to the side. He grabbed a bottle of wine as he went through the kitchen and took a long swig straight from the bottle.

When his phone rang, something snapped from inside.

‘’HALT DEINE FRESSE!’’ Wren yelled, shutting it off.

His heart pumped a raw, passionate anger through him and without a single thought, he flew into a blind rage. He kicked the trashcan with full force, obeying his impulses. It crashed against the wall, nearly spilling its contents. He booted it again, denting the metal. He slammed his fists against the wall, feeling them sting with bursts of sharp pain. He threw breakables to the ground, breaking ceramic and glass alike into nothing more than shards. He went a step further and crushed the shards under his boot, stomping hard with raw hatred. It split into shiny, tiny grains under the force and he didn’t stop until it was all sparkling sand.

Wren was left huffing and panting. Sweat spotted his forehead and he wiped his brow, satisfied with the results.

He walked to the bathroom, hearing the crackle of glass on his boots. He washed his face, relieving both the heat and washing the sweat off. The mirror reflected a lunatic back to him, with crooked glasses, ruffled hair, dishevelled clothing, wild eyes and reddened features. He touched the glass, curious. This didn’t look like him. Not at all.

And yet… this vile, demented animal was him at his core. This was more so his proprium than the part of him that was well groomed, affable and stately. This violence, savagery and vehemence embodied him. No matter what he pretended to be, he was this deranged creature. He smiled genuinely. It blossomed into a wide, manic grin.

An utter madman returned the gesture.

**~***~**

Mick awoke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. He was cold all over and shaken to the core. His heart raced in his throat, trying to run from an imaginary threat. He had never wanted to see that image again. Never again. But it had been dredged up from the wasteland that was his brain and brought straight to his face. It seemed that day would never leave him, no matter how hard he tried to let it go.

The starry sky of gore and blood and that stench of death came back to him, even after waking up. It was as if he was still in that old room of long ago. He could still hear the beep of that retro phone and the voice of the operator on the other side, as calm as ever as he pleaded for help, despite knowing that they couldn’t do a thing.

It marked the second time he had been abandoned.

He felt bile rise up into his throat as an irrational fear popped into his head.

_Would Wren abandon him too?_

That fear broke him. It snapped him like a twig. Crushed him into nothing but fragments. There was no certainty. No definite answer. The bloke could leave him tomorrow without a word. He could be alone forever. Mick never wanted him to leave. But he could at any moment. He could. He could run from him like the rest.

Tears spilled from his eyes and an anguished howl sounded from him. He covered his face, hiding himself from the watchful eyes of the world. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. He needed certainty. He wanted to be sure he would wake up beside someone. This wasn’t okay anymore. It had never been okay. He couldn’t cope anymore. He needed Wren.

Mick picked up the phone. He knew it was in the middle of the goddamn night but he felt as if he was going to fall apart.

It rang, over and over again. He tried again, three times and on the fourth, he heard a click.

‘’…Hello?’’ The doctor’s voice was a mere groan, thick and tired. He must have been asleep.

He wasn’t sure what to say. Mick didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling, or what he needed from Wren. ‘’I… I want ya to talk to me.’’ His voice was shaken, broken and hurt.

‘’Oh…’’ Upon hearing his voice, he figured that Wren knew something was up. ‘’What has gotten you so upset, Mick?’’

‘’…I can’t… I don’t want to talk about it.’’ He whimpered. ‘’Please, jus’ talk to me. I jus’… I need to listen to ya for a bit. Jus'... a few minutes.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I doubt an update for either of my projects will be out by the 25th so, merry christmas everyone!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red flags?? Huh?? What??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies about the update spam, something bugged out and this fic didn't show up on the main page for whatever reason, nor did it update on my dashboard. Sometimes it takes a couple of minutes but it didn't show up at all even after about an hour, which was very odd. Hopefully this fixes it. I think it had something to do with me previewing before I added this chapter?? Not sure.
> 
> Sorry about that.

_Jus’ a few more minutes, please, Wren?_

Those words haunted Wren as he groomed himself for work. He straightened his tie, combed his hair – scowling at the growing collection of greys – and packed his bag. No matter how much he busied himself, that simple, yet pleading question crawled back into his head. Despite how tactful and innocent it had been, he had to refuse it and now, it had become a stubborn thorn in his conscience. Perhaps he should have accepted that plea. Though he would have grown weary and surely felt the effects the next morning, Mick sounded so _upset_ when he told him that he had to hang up. Wren would have dismissed the bushman’s distress if it hadn’t been for a certain, concerning inflection. He had heard the slightest flutter of animosity in his words, cleverly hiding under the thundering wings of sorrow. Though it had been subtle, he’d caught it and now, he was unable to unhear it.

It had left a very sour, knotted feeling in Wren. It was as if guilt or worry were tying up his insides into ugly bows of discomfort. This twisting feeling made him feel that something was amiss. It rattled his otherwise sturdy sense of security, causing it to crack. He knew it wouldn’t break, but it served as a gentle reminder that it very well could.

Such a perturbed feeling lingered like fog that wouldn’t dissipate even when he arrived. He greeted his co-workers and made his way to his desk. He felt a hint of relief when he sat down. He could just forget about last night and instead focus on his job.

It was somehow even busier today, with more patients and a shorter pause between them. He could hardly breathe between people and it felt as if he had to fight for a single gasp. Stress wormed its way into him and showed in how his fingers strummed his desk, how his typically amiable tone turned cold and how he felt as if he was creeping towards the edge. Cracks were forming into his mask of a trustworthy individual and every annoyance chipped away at the perfectly sculpted ceramic. Though he felt that he was on the verge of snapping, he made an effort to chat with those who saw him. Trivial small talk never interested him, but he needed to salvage his crumbling facade. Time flew by on steadfast wings due to the busy, bustling atmosphere and refused to stop.

The seams of his disguise were being plucked one by one and he barely had time to patch them up. It was already melting under the pressure and heat but now, it felt as if it were all coming apart. He would need to take some time to repair it.

It just had to survive today.

The hands of the clock pointed to his break. At last, he could take a moment to relax. He fled to his reprieve in the break room, joining all his co-workers for a cup of instant coffee and fleeting freedom. As he filled his cup from the coffee pot, a fellow practitioner grabbed him for a chat. He didn’t pay it much mind and instead of the mundane conversation, his mind wandered to the jingle of the bells on the door as more and more people flooded in. The voice of the girl at the counter talking to someone on the phone caught his attention. Even the passing cry of a bird snatched his focus for a moment. He would respond to questions, of course but he wasn’t really present. His mind was simply overwhelmed. It was creating its own vacuum of sound and absorbing it all to force a silence. He couldn’t hear his own voice, or theirs, and yet, he knew what to say and when. He was trapped in between the void and bustling life. Half of himself was drowning in a sea of nothing whilst the other lived and breathed.

The creak of the staffroom door put the fragments of himself back together and then shattered him again. Such an innocuous sound had brought something truly destructive into the room. His greatest fears had come true. His heart stopped. He couldn’t breathe, nor could he believe what he was seeing. He had to be dreaming. It couldn’t be real. But when he finally took a breath, nothing changed. Wren didn’t wake up in his bed with the alarm blaring, no, he was still in this goddamned room surrounded by men and women with no idea of what was happening.

Mick was here and was standing before him, with bags under his eyes, redness in the whites and his pupils seemed to jitter around the room. Wren could feel thousands of eyes on him, watching, judging and gawking. His two lives had finally met and it wasn’t at all pretty. They collided roughly, slamming into each other, shredding each other and tearing holes in one another. Chunks broke off, fragments scarpered, pieces shattered and he was locked in the middle of it all.

A single sentence brought all sound back into the world. ‘’Darlin’, I couldn’t take it anymore. I can’t wait any bloody longer. I’ve missed ya so much.’’ The bushman stepped closer and leant in to kiss him on the lips. Even though the gesture was supposed to be sweet, Wren only felt anger. He was furious, in fact. The bushman had the gall to go to his workplace unannounced and storm right through the place, putting their relationship on display to everyone he worked with. And here he was, wanting to _kiss_ him.

Wren pushed him away, mortified. ‘’Mick, you are not supposed to be here.’’ He said it softly, calmly. The last thing he needed was a heated argument in the middle of a busy clinic. Though there was fire in his throat, it was too dangerous to breathe it. It felt as if his blood was boiling and burning him from inside out.

‘’I don’t care, luv’. I jus’ needed to see ya.’’ He gained an uncanny confidence brought upon by raw desperation. ‘’C’mon, let’s get the fuck out of here. There’s a park right ‘round the corner. We could have a picnic or somethin’.’’ He grabbed him by the wrist and pulled. Hard. Wren couldn’t tolerate any of this. This sort of behaviour was utterly unacceptable and inappropriate. Not only was he unclean and visibly emotionally distressed, but he was showing it to everyone else in the room. It rubbed off badly on Wren and he had no doubt that he was being judged for the company he kept.

‘’No, Mick. I’m working and I can’t just… _leave_.’’ He was firm but kept his voice low. ‘’You have to listen to me. You need to go, _now_. You’re causing a scene and people are _looking._ ’’ He gestured to the door. Wren needed him to leave. The final threads were being plucked. He was about to snap. He could feel it. The edge was near. He only had to take another step to fall.

‘’I… I don’t… Aren’t you happy to see me?’’ There was pain in his voice and his eyes burned into him with such intensity it twisted his sense of righteousness into that of guilt.

‘’Of course I am happy to see you, but it does not change the fact that you entered without any sort of permission and scared the life out of everyone here.’’ He scolded the man gently. ‘’You need to go home, Mick. I mean it.’’

‘’But I need—‘’ Wren shut him up by putting an index to his lips.

‘’I know how you’re feeling… but you must endure it. Pulling stunts like this is simply not appropriate.’’ He whispered. ‘’I need you to go home, okay?’’

‘’I’m not goin’, Wren.’’ He said with an equal amount of gentleness. It sounded resolute, as if nothing could change the fact.

Compromise was his only bargaining chip. ‘’Look, dear, I have a few more minutes of my break. We could… go to my office for a few minutes.’’ He sighed, feeling dirty for surrendering so easily. He saw those bloodshot eyes light up with excitement. ‘’But you must promise me that you will return home afterwards.’’

He nodded quickly.

Wren took him by the hand to his office and just about ran there. He closed the door behind them and the very moment their privacy was guaranteed, he grabbed Mick by the collar and smothered him with a fiery kiss. He’d missed how soft his lips were, how he always froze for a moment with shock and how his kisses were so wonderfully imperfect. Their embrace was saturated with a mutualistic longing, but even Wren could feel it being tainted by his anger. It poisoned it with a bitter, caustic taste. He had complied with an innate love, rather than the passionate, more pressing exasperation he felt. The latter would have to be addressed before he did something rash. Hate and love were bumping each other crudely, fighting for dominance.

He pulled away. ‘’Don’t do this ever again. I mean it.’’ He whispered, baring his teeth and releasing his fury for a precious moment.

‘’Are ya mad at me?’’ He whimpered like a child would.

‘’Only a little.’’ That was a lie. In actuality, Wren was furious with him. He wanted to smack him across the face or grab him by the throat. He knew such impulses were rash and counterproductive, but that knowledge failed to quell the temptation to obey them. Gentleness and compromise were the only currencies compatible with a man in a sensitive state. Those currencies were expensive and taxing for Wren, but he would bankrupt himself of it long before resorting to violence or bitter words. He planted a kiss on Mick’s forehead. ‘’Now, can you tell me why you came all the way up here to see me?’’

‘’I was feelin’ like shit.’’ He replied bluntly. ‘’I couldn’t fuckin’ sleep last night and I didn’t know what to do with myself so I drove down here to see ya.’’

‘’What was upsetting you?’’ He asked, recalling similar words from the night before.

‘’I don’t bloody know, Wren. I think there’s somethin’ wrong with me. I can’t…’’ He sucked in a breath. ‘’I can’t deal with bein’ alone anymore. I’ve started havin’ nightmares again and fuck, look at me. I look like a right junkie, don’t I?’’ He laughed uncomfortably. ‘’I don’t know why but without ya I jus’ start rememberin’ shit and thinkin’ about things until I’m bawlin’ my bloody eyes out.’’ He pointed to his pink tinted eyes which violently clashed with the green irises. ‘’I mean, talkin’ with ya helped but it wasn’t… it wasn’t enough. I wanted ya there with me, luv’. I jus’ wanted to cuddle with ya and forget about all that shit. Ya jus’ have this way of… fixin’ shit for me.’’

‘’Dear, you shouldn’t depend on me to help you sleep.’’ He reminded, kissing him once more. ‘’You must learn to cope with your feelings. No matter how unpleasant they may be, you don’t need me to… sweep them under the rug for you.’’

‘’But ya don’t get it, Wren. Ya can’t…’’ He stopped there, unable to say the rest.

‘’I can’t what?’’ He prompted with a huff.

‘’Forget it.’’ He dismissed it. ‘’It was stupid, anyway.’’ Mick heard the jingle of the front door opening and he let out a sigh. ‘’I love ya, darlin’.’’

‘’I love you too.’’ He was so tired at this point that he was reading off a script. He meant it and yet, in the moment, he didn’t. He was so very angry with him and masked it with affection. ‘’You should be going now. I don’t want to make anyone wait longer than they have to.’’

Mick nodded sombrely. ‘’Aight, then… see ya later, luv’.’’ The bushman gave him a fleeting peck on the cheek before leaving. He was relieved when he heard the bells chime. Wren had never been one for surprises, particularly ones that compromised his reputation.

He desperately needed a moment of solidarity. He needed a moment to himself. He needed to take a single breath to keep going. He would keel over if he didn’t take a brief pause in solidarity. He needed to get out for just a minute or two. Wren went to the staff’s bathroom and went straight to the sinks.

Wren ignored the chatter as he turned on the faucet. He could hear at least three people, talking away in the corner, smoking out the open window. The air stunk of nicotine and a repulsive ash. Water flowed into the sink and he washed his face to clear his mind. He only started to listen when he heard a certain word. It was one he knew well.

‘’—Fucking fags ruining our lunchbreak… What else is new.’’ A familiar voice said, making Wren’s nerves ignite with a newfound anger that was more intense with the last. Wren tried to shut it out. He needed to be calm. Another splash of cold water eased the flames. They didn’t know he was here and perhaps it was better that they didn’t know. He could just leave. Forget about it all and pretend it never happened.

‘’Who cares? Better question is if Wren would be the woman of the house. I can’t exactly imagine that ragged looking nutcase doing housework… or anything at all, really.’’

Another contributed. ‘’Wren would like that, I reckon.’’ They laughed mockingly.

‘’On the bright side of all of this, we know what caused his ‘sore throat’, eh?’’

Wren wiped the water off his face, which was suddenly very hot. Wren was tired of this idle gossip. He strode over to the group, ensuring that his heels were loud against the tile. The group all froze. It was pitiful to see such educated men and women on such a low level, talking rubbish about him for nothing more than his preferences. For all the things they could dissect him for, they chose something so harmless.

‘’Oh… Hello!’’ A fellow doctor said, his gruff voice twisting uncomfortably.

Wren had nothing to say back. He needed only action to convey how he felt. The final seam had been ripped out and now, his amiable persona had crumbled to nothing but ash. He could no longer let this pass. There would be consequences.

In one swift moment, Wren grabbed him by the throat, slamming him against the bathroom wall. He felt hands all over him, tugging and pulling in vain attempts to free their fellow prattler from his grip. The sweet sounds of suffocation were nearly intoxicating. It felt so right to deprive this foul creature of air, to make him regret all of those filthy words. The other two were screaming, begging and yelling at him to stop. He paid it no mind. He intended to do the same to them. He only wished he had more hands. That way, they could all go together, in a circle of their unjust hate.

Thirty seconds was enough to induce unconsciousness. Wren didn’t hear the door opening and closing rapidly, or the onlookers rushing in. His hands were ripped off of his victim’s throat and he was pulled away like a rabid animal that needed to be put down.

It was only then when he realised what he had done. On the bathroom floor was a man he had nearly strangled to death and all of these people had witnessed him turn violent. One of his lives had swallowed the other, leaving his true self to roam free as a wild beast, ripping up innocents. There were so many witnesses. He’d been so terribly clumsy. The damage was done. His time here was over. They had seen a glimpse of him and that was enough to blind them forever.

He could try to save himself, just a little. He put on a familiar act. ‘’I’m… I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what came over me.’’ He made himself sound exhausted and as if he were drowning in guilt. Those practised words brought up ancient memories, ones he had forgotten.

_I’m so sorry about your cat, ma’am. It was an accident, I swear it._

_I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to do that._

_I’m terribly sorry. I never meant to hurt it, mother._

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry._

_I’m not sorry._

_I can’t be sorry._

_I will never be sorry._

‘’I think it’s best if you come with me, Wren.’’ His superior said, tapping him on the shoulder. There was an unmistakable shake in their voice.

He recovered from the shock of it all and rose to his feet, feeling his heart thump rapidly in his chest. This little chat wouldn’t bode well. It would mark his prompt punishment, whatever it may be. He knew all three of them would deny their involvement and even if they were to admit their pathetic habits, in their eyes it didn’t justify what he did.

He was taken to their office and he sat down, awaiting his fate. 

‘’Would you care to explain yourself, Wren?’’

‘’I lost control.’’ He said flatly. ‘’I have been stressed as of late and I overheard derogatory comments about myself in the bathroom and that brought me over the edge.’’ He was failing to muster emotion. He was so tired. So very tired. ‘’I’m sure you heard from our _talkative_ co-workers that we had an unexpected visitor… I must apologise for that. He has been stressed as well and—‘’

‘’I’m going to have to dismiss you, Wren.’’

‘’You're going to fire me?’’ He was taken aback. ‘’I… I didn’t intend to do any of this!’’ 

‘’Look, its best if you get out of here. News will spread fast and you will be very lucky if he doesn’t press charges. It’s been lovely working with you but you have to go.’’

‘’You can’t just get rid of me! Nobody else will hire me after this!’’ He cried.

‘’I’m sorry, Wren, I really am.’’

*******

Wren felt utterly hopeless and pathetic.

He sat on a stranger’s porch with the rain gently sprinkling onto his skin. He sang a lullaby from long ago, cradling a small, furry corpse in his arms. The grey fluff was freckled with sparkling droplets of water, which shone like tears even in the dark. He felt as if he were a boy again, sneaking out at night to relieve himself of his urges. But unlike that simpler time, Wren felt no relief. What he had done had offered him nothing but a fleeting pleasure, which had quickly been enslaved by his sorrow, which took that brief joy and made it into its own vile servant; loathing.

He had fed this animal, gently pet it and it had made him feel… normal. And yet, he knew it was only a matter of time before he did this. He could not escape the compulsion to do this. In the state he was in, he could not resist his vile urges. It all felt so childish. He was never so compulsive and yet he had done this without a second thought. He thought he was above this, and perhaps he had been not too long ago. But alas, he had fallen and was rapidly crashing to the ground.

To sing in his native tongue was a relief in a way. To join the sorrowful howls of the wind and the gentle pitter patter against the ground brought him a pensive comfort. It brought him a temporary peace. It would wear away and surrender to his misery but for the moment, he felt… safe.

He wandered into a nearby garden and dug a shallow grave with nothing more than his hands. He remembered it to be far more difficult as a boy, as little hands had great difficulty ripping out roots and dirt alike. It didn’t take long to make a well sized hole. Gently, he placed his tiny victim in its grave, offering it a final look before returning the soil.

Wren only wished he could bury his contempt.

**~***~**

Mick stepped out of his ute. However, he wasn’t home, in fact, he had gone somewhere far better.

The rain splashed against his nose and he wiped it off. Over the evening, the downpour had only intensified. He opened the gate and brushed past the picket fence. Wren’s car was absent, and Mick assumed he’d gone out for the night. He fetched the key he’d nicked from his pocket and slotted it into the door. He checked around the empty street for witnesses before returning to his car. He opened the boot and retrieved the sleeping beauty inside. He carried the bloke bridal style, looking to his unseeing, dead eyes with a smile. He was rather handsome under the moonlight. The very moment he had seen the bloke smoking in the alleyway, he knew that Wren would like him.

Mick carried him through the house and took him to the secret surgery booth. Mick started by removing the bloke’s clothes. He nicked the watch for good measure. He had to pause to admire the place while he was in there. This was where Wren had made him so many little gifts. And now, he would be using the same tools to give Wren one. He fetched the bone saw and all the sharpest equipment. He cut into the body, opening up the body and cutting away at the skin to make an open window to his organs. It didn’t take a doctor to notice that his lungs looked like shit. He would have to cover those up. In fact, they all looked like shit, with what looked like blisters on them. It was like looking at a paradox. Ugly on the inside but beautiful on the outside.

It was interesting to be in Wren’s shoes, to be the one gawking at some poor sod’s organs for his own amusement. He knew that the doctor would do a far better job, but nonetheless, he liked playing surgeon. It was fun because he wasn’t scared to spoil the meat. It had already been spoiled by the bloke who was supposed to look after it.

Mick carefully lifted the body, careful as to not spill any blood or guts onto the floor. He took the bloke to the kitchen and decided to place him on the table. He laid him out straight and placed the corpse’s hands on his chest as if he were peacefully resting inside a fancy coffin. He returned to his ute to gather the supplies he needed. He retrieved the special box he’d made himself along with a basket full of wildflowers which he’d picked early in the morning with the intention of giving them to his lover.

Things hadn’t turned out that way. Instead, he had a stroke of brilliance. He was so glad he had chosen not to go home. If he had done that, he wouldn’t have gotten the idea to make something truly special out of this. It was a special event, after all. Not only was he showing his gratefulness and thankfulness but he could express his desire to go further. Inspiration had struck him over the head and refused to leave until he made a spectacle out of this.

He knew that Wren loved a good spectacle.

Mick put the box into the body’s pale hands, so that it looked as if he was offering a gift. He reached into the basket, pulling out a handful of vibrant yellow wattles. He sprinkled them over the body and made sure they fit snugly into his insides. They looked like bright splatters of paint on a dark canvas. He covered the bloke head to toe with the flowers, making it look like he was sleeping under a blanket of yellow fluff. He closed the man’s eyelids and tilted his head, so he looked as if he was in a peaceful sleep. He tossed a handful of flowers over the table itself and made a sparse trail all the way into the driveway.

As he came back in, he felt that something was missing.

Mick set elegant candles out and lit them. They danced and swayed in a rhythm of their own and brought some life to the stillness. Immediately, it looked better. It was almost perfect. He just needed something atmospheric as a final touch. He looked around the room and noticed a vintage record player. It seemed to be in working condition and the lack of dust showed that it’d been used recently. He found a stash of records ranging from vintage classical, swing, jazz and even blues. There was nothing from the last decade or two in sight. Mick picked one up at random and played the record.

It sounded like slow, soft jazz. The music was slightly distorted and sounded just a touch out of tune. It was still beautiful, in that broken sort of way.

And now, he merely had to wait.

**~***~**

Wren switched off the ignition and let out a long sigh. This nightmarish day was finally coming to an end. He could collapse in his bed and escape into his dreams. Anything was better than this. He stepped outside and the rain fell heavily against his head, soaking his hair. He looked up to the sky and looked to the grinning, mocking moon. He grabbed his keys from his pocket and slotted them into the door, only to discover it was already unlocked.

A sour feeling churned inside of him and only intensified when he heard a hauntingly familiar song. He checked behind his shoulder and noticed a filthy car that he recognised to be Mick’s.

The nightmare wasn’t yet over, it seemed.

Wren went inside, curious and cautious to what the bushman’s intentions were. He went into the kitchen and his heart fluttered. Mick was there at the table, waiting for him. The room was lit dimly by both candlelight and a weak lamp in the corner of the room. His blood turned hot and his mind raced with hurtful words. ‘’I told you to go home…’’ He sighed out, exhausted and exasperated. ‘’I’m so done with this nonsense, Mick!’’ He slammed the countertop with his fist.

Mick was seemingly unfazed by it. ‘’C’mere for a sec’. There’s somethin’ I wanna show ya.’’ He rose to his seat and pulled him by the wrist to the dining table.

‘’I don’t think that is relevant to—‘’ His mouth stopped working the moment he realised what exactly he was looking at. Behind the bushman was a lavishly decorated corpse. He so wanted to scold and berate Mick for intruding upon his home just prior but it had all dissolved at the sight of this wonderful gift.

He examined the corpse that had been placed here for his eyes only. It was a kind, tailored and generous donation. It was an offering for his love, or perhaps, his forgiveness. The body was that of a young man. He was the perfect choice, with pretty, boyish features and an elegance about his body. Flowers accompanied the raw flesh and organs, as if growing from them. Mick had performed an amateur vivisection and opened him up to expose all of his insides. From what he could tell, they were damaged, but still beautiful in the way that even chipped sculptures were. They were tarnished but still artful. The flowers were just about overflowing from his chest, as if it were a flood of yellow. His unmoving hands held a wooden box, displaying it like a treasure chest. Wren traced the varnished wood with his fingertips, feeling the smoothness of it. He so wanted to open it and see what wondrous things were inside.

‘’I was going to yell and scream at you,’’ Wren began, entranced by the sights before him. ‘’But I don’t think I want to do that anymore.’’ It had all been made for him, done to please him, created for his pleasure and tailored to his standards. A part of him was still agitated and rattled, but another part of him was simply overwhelmed by excitement and an immense gratitude.

‘’That’s good. I was a bit worried you’d be cross with me…’’ Mick said softly.

He turned to face Mick and leant in. ‘’How could I be when you did all of this just to please me?’’ He planted a kiss on his lips, still feeling his insides twisting with uncertainty. This gift did bring him joy, but he still felt that strange, unsettling feeling. It was so perfect and yet, he felt concern. It was simultaneously incredibly sweet and terrifying that Mick had the gall to invade his home and prepare something like this.

‘’There’s more, luv’. Look in the box.’’ He tapped the lid of the wooden box.

Wren took the invitation and lifted the lid up. Inside, there was the most gorgeous knife he had ever seen, resting on a homemade cushion. He took it into his hands as if it were a baby. The blade itself was decorated with the likeness of a fairy wren. The handle was the main attraction and was a clean cut from a human jaw. Not only did the teeth feel incredible against his hand but they were beautiful, too. It fit snugly in his hand and he felt along the serrated edge of the blade. He loved how it cut his skin so perfectly, forming a wonderfully even red line on his index. He showed the cut to Mick and the bushman took his index into his mouth, sucking the blood off for him.

‘’It’s stunning…’’ He said, turning it over in his hands. ‘’I _love_ it, Mick…’’ There was even a sheath, made of a pale leather which fit perfectly over the blade.

‘’There’s more, darlin’.’’ Mick’s hand locked around his, squeezing gently. 

Wren could hardly believe it. The bushman had already spoiled him with so much. What more could there be? He looked into the box. In the place of the blade was a lone key. He scooped it up, confused by the odd item.

‘’A key?’’ He asked dangling it before Mick’s eyes.

Mick brought Wren’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. His thumb rolled over his knuckles, stroking them. ‘’I… I was thinkin’ maybe ya could move in with me.’’ Those envy green eyes met his, pleading for an answer. He looked so pure like that, with raw longing on his face and desire in his words. ‘’I know that means you’d have to quit work but there’s a doctor’s up in town and they could probably use someone like you. Or I don’t fuckin’ know, maybe you could retire. Either way, it’s your choice, darl’. I jus’… I’m ready to make this serious.’’

He looked to the quaint key in his palm. He could leave this place. He could run from here. He could leave the carcass of his old life to rot. He would never have to see any of these people ever again. He could run free in a town of lunatics and deranged men. He could finally be accepted, or as close as a man like him could get to that. He would never have to feel alone. He could wake up every morning beside the man he loved. He could kill by his side without any fear of being caught. He could dine with him every day. He could kiss him goodnight each and every night. He could hold him close as he slept. He could be kissed, cuddled and spoiled with the attention he so craved.

Wren could finally have contentment.

‘’I would be delighted to live with you, my dear.’’ He said, smiling warmly.

The way Mick’s whole body jumped with joy brought him an immense warmth. His eyes lit up, his lips cracked into a grin, his posture seemed to straighten up and he embraced Wren without hesitation, smothering him with rapid pecks all over his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting two volatile people with violent tendencies together in the same house? Nothing could possibly go wrong!
> 
> As a side note, I originally intended to have a bit of smut in this chapter but I didn't see an opportunity for it anywhere. Sorry, I know you're all hungry but I have no food for you xD Next time, I promise ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment you lot have read over 80,000 words for-  
> a LOT of spiciness incoming, you've been warned!

News spread quickly, it seemed.

Wren noticed it first as minor changes in behaviour. Not even a week after the incident, his neighbours began to avert their gaze when he greeted them, passers-by had begun to stare and some would whisper their already stale gossip, others would practically yell it out. He found it all so odd, as he had returned to his docile state and could not appear more passive if he tried. He had made a deliberate effort to restore his status as a peaceful, reputable figure by grooming himself well, dressing himself with care and smiling to strangers. In his heart he knew it to be a false hope, as little could quell the sudden wariness of his character. He was merely buying groceries and yet, the individuals around him behaved as if they were face to face with an untamed beast. The boy at the checkout offered his usual smile and casual jokes but there was a slight tension in his voice. Wren behaved as if he couldn’t hear that slight fearful inflection and laughed along with him.

Wren scooped up his bags and wished that he could flee to his new home instantly. He could not bear to stay in this neighbourhood a second longer. Suspicion had always been his nemesis and for most of his life he had the pleasure of escaping it. But now, he was forced to meet its eyes and feel its unrelenting gaze on him. He had spent years feeding, blanketing and nurturing his reputation, only to have it die at the gentlest breeze. He knew that trust was a fickle thing, but he had not expected it to crumble so rapidly.

They could see him, now. They could see all of him, even the parts that he had kept hidden for years. They were not blind anymore. They knew exactly what he was.

All it had taken was one misstep and it was all taken away. One error had forced him to flee his home. The men and women around him had driven him to the brink and then betrayed him. They had opened the door for death to stride through and to reap the soul of his good standing, corrupting it forever. He had done so much for these people and yet they had the gall to stab him in the back. They looked at him as if he were a miscreant, a felon and a violent criminal. The game had ended, leaving only the sour memory of its conclusion. He was no longer welcome in this place even though he had given away so much of himself for these people.

Wren would never be accepted, no matter how hard he worked for it. He had no place among them. He was a monster in human skin that could smile, laugh, and cry without feeling a shred of the associated emotions. He was a masterful, twisted mockery of a human being as he lacked their most vital components. And in the end, his carefully engineered games of pretend had been as fragile as glass. It had been shattered at the critical moment, depriving him of the approval he so craved. He had come so tantalisingly close to acceptance and a sense of belonging only for the floor to be pulled out from under his feet.

And how he had plummeted!

After convincing Mick to return home, Wren had spent the entire night desecrating the gift he received. It was not out of spite for Mick’s actions but rather, his own foolishness. He had performed a haphazard dissection and cut the body into uneven, crooked pieces with violent slashes, cuts and tears. In that moment, Wren had no regard for the sanctuary that was the human body and instead, violated every aspect of it with saws, knives and all matters of surgical equipment. At one stage, he had resorted to his bare hands to rip organs out for the sole purpose of ripping _something_ apart. He had crushed each and every intricate structure in his hands, revelling in the way congealed blood and gore dribbled onto his palms and as a final act smeared it on himself as a reminder that only one man loved him for the vile, demented creature he was.

Even a long shower had not been enough to drown the memory of his failures.

He put the shopping on the countertop, walking past a pile of packed boxes. He had thrown most of his possessions away, stripped the cupboards bare and removed all semblance of a personality from his home, leaving it a bare skeleton for the next person to embellish with character. He intended to abandon his life here for good. He had only packed what he couldn’t bear to remove from his life and items that would have a place in his lover’s home. Most of his wardrobe was in a tidy little box, along with a particularly valuable memento. His strongbox of trophies joined them, wrapped neatly and safely in a cloth. He was nearly done, with only a few trivial chores to do before he could leave.

Since the first day he moved in, Wren had been anticipating the death of his artificial existence. However, he had always been under the impression that he would be the one to slaughter it. But defying all expectation, Mick had been the one to slit its throat. In the moment, that killing seemed impulsive and unplanned, but upon closer contemplation, it appeared far more calculated.

Perhaps the bushman had intended to gut Wren’s secondary life from the start. It was the only divider between them, after all. When he thought about it, he could see the steps in this clever assassination. Initially, it had been a poisoning of sorts, or rather, the unassuming intake of a simple idea; that he could escape his game if he so desired and that Mick could be that way out. A meeting of two evils had created a temptation to escape, first in the form of innocent, mundane retreats with Mick and eventually, into mutually deranged behaviours which only intensified with time. Maybe Mick’s plan was to nurture Wren’s depravity until he could no longer exist in the mundane world in fear of discovery. Maybe he got tired of waiting for his twistedness to grow out of control of its own volition. Perhaps he had opted to gut the barrier between them out of a compulsive, irresistible desire to be truly together with no limitations as soon as possible.

But Mick did not appear to be the sort to carefully plan. It had likely been a chain reaction rather than a planned series of steps. But a part of him wondered if that was the bushman’s genius, to lull him into the sense that he was in control, when in actuality, Mick was the one pulling the strings.

Could he be that clever?

Though it was indeed a frightening thought, he supposed it was unlikely. And no matter the means, the outcome remained. Wren was leaving a life of pretending, false smiles and loathing behind. Wren would make the trip tomorrow. He knew for certain that Mick would be eagerly waiting for him, like a puppy sitting in the driveway, watching the road for their owner’s eventual return.

**~***~**

Mick was on his way back from a bushwalk when he heard the low hum of a car’s engine.

He had been hoping to hear it a lot sooner. He supposed it would take a bit of time to arrange everything, pack up and actually drive here but he had just about gone mental with boredom. Cleaning out drawers, emptying closets and making room in cupboards was only fun for so long. He had even cleaned the house out of a need to keep busy.

He plucked a wildflower as he returned to his property. He noticed Wren standing by his car, coffee cup in hand. He took a sip with care and grace, as if he desperately didn’t want to spill it. The bloke was overdressed as always, with a dress shirt that had the first few buttons plucked, to give a cheeky view of his chest. He wore tall, glossy boots which crunched the gravel underneath them with ease. He wondered if Wren had shined them just for this occasion. Either way, the man was as gorgeous as he always was, if not more. He noticed a little bit more to appreciate about Wren every time he saw him.

He stepped out of the bush and whistled, catching the doctor’s attention immediately.

‘’G’day, darlin’.’’ Mick said, embracing his lover – he was careful not to spill his drink, as the bloke would never forgive him for ruining his shirt – and kissed him on the lips.

This kiss was only brief. ‘’I was half expecting you to be seated on the porch, waiting for me.’’ He joked, cracking a smile.

‘’I thought about doin’ that, but it would’ve been bloody borin’.’’ He replied, tucking the flower behind Wren’s ear. The German shot him a quizzical look before realising what he was doing. That look turned into one of fondness. ‘’There… aren’t ya pretty!’’ He admired his handiwork and kissed the man on the lips.

‘’Please, I’m always beautiful.’’ Wren replied, winking at him.

‘’I know.’’ He said softly, leaning in to draw his lover in for a longer, more passionate kiss.

Wren gently pushed him away. ‘’I appreciate all of this attention, but I must remind you that there are pressing matters to attend to.’’ He gestured to the back seat of his car, where a stack of boxes rested on the seats. ‘’All of these things will not move themselves, will they?’’ He said, opening the door and picking one up.

‘’I guess not.’’ He sighed out, disappointed that the bloke had cut their moment so short. He too, grabbed a box.

*******

The unpacking process was a chore. Worse than that, a nightmare.

Mick had learned that Wren was rather particular with the way he liked the house to be. He preferred things to be ordered and categorised rather than haphazardly strewn about without rhyme or reason. He liked objects in certain places, and in those places only, and he preferred things to be stored in the most convenient location, even if that meant a complete rearrangement of the stuff that happily existed there beforehand - which was horribly inconvenient – and insisted on cleaning out all the ‘unnecessary junk’ he had in storage. Needless to say, it took hours.

By the end of it, he was exhausted.

Mick slumped on his bed, despite the fact that the sun was still up. Unpacking had sucked all the energy out of him like a greedy leech.

Just minutes after, he heard the door open. It was followed by the distinct rustle of clothes and the soft thump of them falling to the floor. After that, he felt the bed shake under a new weight, followed by a pained creak.

Kind, deft fingers knotted themselves in his hair, pleasantly stroking him. ‘’You’re too good to me, Mick.’’ Wren said sweetly, curling up beside him. The warmth of his body was a blessing in itself, he just wanted to cuddle with him and lose himself in that heat. ‘’Very few men would tolerate my… immovable wants for so long.’’ The doctor nuzzled against his neck. Each word made a gush of heated air brush his skin. ‘’And I would like you to know that I adore you for it.’’

‘’Ya know I would do anythin’ for ya… whether ya want to put all your expensive shit in this house, rearrange the bloody paintin’s or paint the walls pink for god’s sake, I’d do it with ya. This is your home as well, now.’’ He cuddled closer to Wren. ‘’I jus’ want ya to be happy here.’’

‘’Ugh, I will be sick if you keep being so sweet.’’ Wren teased.

‘’Don’t bullshit, I know ya like it.’’ He knew that the man loved it. Despite Wren’s claims, it was painfully obvious that he liked being showered in attention, care and praise.

‘’Mm… you caught me.’’ Wren planted a kiss on his neck. A long yawn escaped Mick. It resounded from deep in his throat and he snuggled against the man he loved, resting against his warm body. ‘’Oh, schatz… I have tired you out, haven’t I?’’ He cooed, holding him close.

‘’That’s a bloody big understatement.’’ He muttered, nuzzling closer to his lover.

‘’We could have a little nap together if you would like…’’

Mick didn’t have to respond. He merely closed his eyes and nestled himself against Wren.

*******

It turned out to be more than a nap, because when Mick woke up again, the morning sun was proudly beaming through the curtains. He looked to Wren, who was still in a deep sleep. He couldn’t help but smile. The bloke managed to hold his grace and elegance even when unconscious. Wren was laying on his side, close to him with a blank look on his face. Mick noticed his glasses on the bedside table. The absence of those round frames revealed all the signs of age. He saw the deep crows’ feet by his eyes, the lines on his forehead and the grey hair that poorly hid among the dark ones. He didn’t mind the age gap at all but seeing the evidence of Wren’s maturity brought up frightening questions.

Mick didn’t like to think about mortality. He caught his mind wandering there and stopped it before it could reach its destination. He thought about different things instead, like how peaceful Wren looked, how tidy his room was now and what he would make for brekky. He watched the bloke rest, curious as to his little mannerisms.

As he observed the beautiful man laying beside him, he began to wonder how on earth he’d ended up here. If someone had told him that he would be madly in love with a man about a decade his senior with a love for violence and a similar appreciation for hunting, he would have laughed his arse off. Sometimes he wondered if this love was all by some sort of design or by random chance. He often considered the odds and the more factors he put into place, the more ridiculous it became. He wondered if this love was what the universe called a joke. It had brought two loonies together to wreak havoc on decent folk, and for what? A laugh?

As the minutes passed, the doctor began to stir until his eyes fluttered open. He stared longingly for a moment and let out a weary yawn. ‘’How long have you been watching me sleep, dear?’’ He asked. His voice was a grumble, made coarse and rough by sleep.

‘’Only a couple’a minutes.’’ He admitted.

‘’I hope you enjoyed the show.’’ He groaned as he stretched out.

‘’I did.’’ He nodded.

Wren settled down and snuggled close to kiss him on the lips. ‘’I suppose it’s an interesting start to our first day living together.’’ He chuckled and it became a darker sound, more sinister in nature. ‘’What will be next, I wonder? Perhaps you will take to watching me touch myself.’’ He smiled to himself contentedly, clearly proud of himself.

‘’Fuckin’ christ, is that mind of yours ever clean?’’ Mick ruffled his dark hair.

‘’You talk as if you wouldn’t enjoy watching that… I will have you know that I am quite the performer when it comes to those sorts of things.’’ Wren winked. His smile had blossomed into a wide grin, like that of a devil; cheeky and mischievous.

‘’And you’re talkin’ like ya _want_ me to be a fuckin’ peepin’ tom.’’ He cried out in disbelief.

‘’Well, I would not mind if you were one…’’ There was a sultry twist in his voice, it was a provocative, tempting purr that almost transformed his words into a seductive offer.

‘’Ya don’t mean that, do ya?’’

‘’Mean what, Mick?’’ Playing dumb didn’t suit him.

‘’Don’t pretend like ya don’t know what—‘’ Wren silenced him with a sudden and impassioned kiss. He felt the roughness of stubble grazing his face, contrasting with the soft lips against his own. As it went along, it slowed down to a more tender and compassionate pace. Before long, it was mellow and tame, with love in mind rather than lust. Each brush lingered for a moment, taking in every sensation before it was replaced by another. He adored the way Wren kissed him. It always felt so genuine, raw and rich with emotion. He could feel how much the man loved him with every touch.

Wren pulled away and met his eyes, losing himself in them for just a moment before finding his next words. ‘’I hope every morning starts like this.’’ The doctor said, smiling pleasantly. His voice was still groggy, but less so than before. Though, Mick couldn’t pay it much mind, because another thought occupied almost every part of his mind. Something about the way that Wren was looking at him with such fondness triggered the thought and released it from its cage. It felt right. Just looking at Wren’s pretty smile and hearing his voice had somehow brought out new feelings inside of him.

He knew it would be yet another stitch that bound them together. But the idea also frightened him to no end. He was frightened to the core, yet he knew that deep inside, he wanted it. Wren embodied that simultaneous fear and adoration. He was a beautiful individual that carried an air of danger. The man was a powerful force, one that could destroy or nurture anything in his path and that danger was alluring to Mick, it drew him in like a moth to a flame to know that whilst Wren would happily slaughter his enemies, he wouldn’t lay a finger on him. He knew that he wanted this and that he was ready. A resonating, powerful feeling inside of him told him so.

And before he knew it, he was blurting that thought. ‘’I… I think I want to take this further, Wren.’’ He sucked in a breath. He couldn’t look away from those mismatched eyes. He was gazing into life and death at once as he said the most frightening words he could imagine. His voice fell low, to a shameful, bashful whisper. ‘’I… I want ya to make love to me.’’

**~***~**

Wren had been waiting so long to hear those words. It hadn’t been the impassioned, needy sound that his fantasies, dreams and thoughts conjured. It had been shy, nervous and embellished with the slightest twinge of fear. And yet, it was just as breath-taking as he had imagined it to be.

He felt something break inside. An unsullied boy had fallen right into his arms and was practically his for the taking. A myriad of impure, filthy thoughts stormed his mind. He would make this so very satisfying that the bushman would come back for more. His very body was aflame, burning with passion, readiness and an unyielding eagerness.

Despite his frenzied desire to make this man his own, he would make sure to do it with poise, patience and kindness. He would take this slow. He would make so they would spend an eternity intertwined and intoxicated with each other’s desire as they climbed the long, steep slope to release. This would be an act of love, not of lust. It would feel righteous and sweet, without filthy, impure desire hindering them.

Wren was taken aback. ‘’Oh… good… very good…’’ He finally mustered as the shock passed him by. His words were dipped in a potent excitement and they came out airy and rich with anticipation.

‘’The only catch is that I don’t really know how all this shit works so you’re gonna have to help me.’’ There was a definite, adorable shudder in Mick’s voice. It was a delicious reminder of his inexperience. Wren licked his lips. He would be the one to change that. He would own a part of Mick. He would take the last of his innocence away and sully him. He would be the one to claim his body, to take him for the first time… the thought was enough to drive him mad and at last, he could act upon them.

He stroked Mick’s cheek with his thumb, soothing his nerves. ‘’That’s alright.’’ He said gently, soothing him with both his voice and the touch that held him close. ‘’I can help you, Mick.’’ He inched closer and they were nearly nose to nose. He could feel the heat from the other’s breaths, which had grown shallower since the start of this dirty little talk. ‘’I can show you everything…’’

‘’It won’t hurt, will it?’’ Mick asked, eyes wide with a naïve fear.

‘’Schatz… there is no need to be afraid…’’ He said with faux gentleness. He offered a reassuring voice and an equally soothing touch. ‘’It won’t hurt a bit.’’ He was secretly revelling in Mick’s uncertainty. That fear was a key component of his darkest, most perverse fantasies. It would soon create small, pleased whines and frightful whimpers. Fear and pleasure would fuse into one magnificent creature, one that would feed and nurture the most vile parts of him. Wren planted a kiss on Mick’s forehead. He couldn’t wait any longer. His mind had been obsessing over this moment for what felt like an eternity. He needed to truly experience it now.

His hands wandered downward and he lifted Mick’s shirt over his head before making a start on his pants. Worried eyes met his and he saw the bushman’s adam’s apple bob with a nervous gulp. ‘’You’ll be gentle, roight?’’

‘’Mhm… we are going to take this very slow.’’ He replied. Hearing such potent fear tickled his nerves and made his heart flutter. A terrible thing inside of him feasted upon that terror and greedily ate it. That happy, joyous feast did not show on the outside, only concern painted his features despite the overwhelming excitement he felt like steam trapped under his skin, heating his body and mind alike. He stripped his lover and remembered just how much he adored the bushman’s figure. He was lean and slender, with a body spotted by freckles and decorated by scars. A thin trail of dark hair ran down from his chest to his stomach and thinned down to his abdomen. Wren started a blind search for the lubricant. He knew for a fact that Mick had some, just not where it was. He opened a few drawers and the bushman quickly got the memo.

Mick sat up and reached under the bed. Wren scowled at the potential of him touching something horrible down there. The bushman did not have high standards when it came to hygiene. Thankfully, he pulled out a bottle. Shyly, it was handed to him. Wren noted how it was almost full.

He squeezed a decent amount on his fingers, slicking them. ‘’Now, spread your legs, bitte.’’ He made the request soft, patient and kind when in reality, he couldn’t wait another moment. ‘’This may appear a little threatening, but I must assure you that it won’t hurt. In fact, it will be quite nice.’’

Mick obliged him, he parted his legs, putting the most enticing parts of himself on display. ‘’Bloody hell, you’re puttin’ those up my arse aren’t ya?’’ His voice quaked, mortified. Wren had imagined Mick like this many times, lying on his back, legs spread wide and an unmistakable redness on his face. It was such a pretty picture that it hurt.

‘’It will feel good, schatz.’’ He reassured, pressing a finger to his entrance, gently stroking the sensitive area to help his lover adjust to the foreign sensation. He spread it, just a little, curious as to what Mick’s reaction would be. He let out a soft gasp, which delighted every part of him.

He began to push just one finger in. He heard Mick take in a shuddery breath as it went inside of him. It brought him an immense satisfaction to know that no-one else had touched this man like this. He felt tight muscle twitch around him as it slid all the way in.

He stopped when he heard Mick’s voice as a precaution. ‘’Bloody hell, that’s… _new_ …’’ He breathed out, at a loss for words.

‘’Are you alright, Mick?’’ He asked sweetly, ensuring it was okay to proceed.

‘’Yeah… I’m foine.’’ He said quietly, voice airy.

He prepared his lover by slowly sliding the finger in and out. Once he felt that Mick was calm and used to the feeling, he added another finger. It was almost surreal to be actually doing this to his lover. He heard the man whimper in surprise as it slid inside. The pair stroked him from inside, going in deep and slicking him. ‘’I have something incredible to show you.’’ He said, grinning devilishly.

‘’I don’t like it when ya smile like that it means trouble and—Oh!’’ Wren struck his prostrate and the reaction was immediate. The bushman gripped the bed hard. His knuckles turned white and he let out a whine. He felt the tight walls around his fingers spasm with excitement as that forgotten place was touched. He noticed how the man’s blushing cock twitched with arousal and how his eyes lit up with the unfamiliar, overwhelming sensation. He could practically feel the fear transforming into raw, unadulterated euphoria.

He stretched the man, just gently. Wren decided that he was adequately prepared for what was to come next. ‘’Are you sure you don’t want to wait until marriage, my dear?’’ He scoffed, mocking Mick’s hesitance and wariness as he poured more lube on his hands.

‘’I’m sure.’’ Mick snickered. Wren figured a hint of levity would soothe the bushman’s nerves.

Wren stroked his cock, preparing himself. It felt incredible to simply touch himself, no matter how fleeting it would prove to be. If he were alone with his thoughts, he would likely continue to do so until he reached his peak. But with a partner, he had an obligation to fulfil his needs as well. He crawled onto all fours and positioned himself on top of Mick. He offered a smile and a quick kiss before lining himself up. ‘’Are you ready, Mick?’’

‘’I s’pose.’’ He chuckled nervously.

Wren eased himself inside and felt an immense satisfaction wash over him. It was just as he imagined; tight and warm. At last, his fantasies had become a reality. This unsullied man was now his to dirty and defile. It all felt so good that he could hardly breathe. It took all of his strength to be gentle. His instincts commanded him to ram himself in and out and to make his lover scream with pleasure. An animalistic part of him longed to experience hasty, violent and passionate sex but he knew that would be for another time. For the moment, the softer kind of intimacy took all priority. He kissed Mick, snuggling close to him. He felt so very close to him, as if he were one with him and truly woven together. They were bound and locked in one another, trapped in each other and unwilling to escape because their prison was infinitely gratifying and pleasurable.

‘’How does it feel, Mick?’’ He purred, pushing his manhood all the way inside. He bit his lip, feeling the heat pooling and swirling in his stomach. He was not expecting to react so strongly to all of this. But then again, a virgin was all that he ever wanted.

‘’I’m not sure yet…’’ He whimpered.

He trailed kisses down the man’s neck. ‘’You will know soon enough…’’ He said softly, slowly rocking back and forth. He was falling in love with the stretching sensation around him, another reminder that he was the sole owner of this part of Mick.

‘’Oh… oh fuck…’’ Mick moaned. He delighted in the way Mick’s fingers fidgeted and knotted the sheets between themselves, in how his lip quivered and in how he didn’t resist. The man was melting beneath him, submitting to everything and taking it all in without a sliver of resistance. He nibbled Mick’s neck and listened to his beautiful whimpers. He suckled the bites, feeling heat rising in his face when he tasted blood. He kissed them and smothered his lover in attention.

Wren locked him into a fervid, lustful kiss as he bucked his hips. He did it slowly, tauntingly so. He would make this last forever if he could. Every now and again he would thrust into the man’s prostate and feel him moan in his mouth. He loved how the bushman had curled close to him. His legs had wrapped around him, as if to pull him in closer. His arms were on his back, idly stroking circles. His kisses were rich with longing and desire. They were clumsy and haphazard with the overstimulation, but he treasured each and every one.

Wren would press in deep and slowly recede in a hypnotic rhythm as his tongue clashed and fought with that of his lover. It was nearly intoxicating to feel every part of the man he loved brushing against him and even more so to know that he was inside of him.

Mick parted. His cheeks were a vibrant red, his eyes glistening, and his lips wet. ‘’It feels… really bloody good.’’ He breathed.

‘’I can make it even better, my dear.’’ He sighed, beginning to buck his hips with a little more force. He kept it subtle but knew it would be even more stimulating than before. The bushman parted his lips and let out a long, shaky breath. ‘’Mm… you’re doing so well.’’ He offered Mick praise, in hopes of stirring him up further.

‘’Ya reckon?’’ He sighed out, breathless. ‘’I thought I was doin’ a pretty shit job.’’

‘’You’re doing anything but, liebling.’’ It brought him an immeasurable excitement to see the bushman react so strongly to even the slightest of movements and changes. If he thrusted even a touch harder, the younger man would release a delicious whimper. If he went faster, the vice grip on his back would intensify and nails would dig into his back. Wren would hardly consider it rough and yet, Mick was behaving as if it was. Wren understood to a degree. He had no point of reference and nothing to draw from. He would be lying if he did not consider it flattering.

Need took over and he bit down on Mick’s neck, revelling in his precious little whines. He tore into it, biting and nibbling until the flesh ripped and blood oozed into his mouth. He tore the flesh and gladly swallowed it down like a ravenous animal. His cock surged as the delectable taste of his lover graced his tongue. Wren tasted copper and the distinctive tang of raw flesh and let out a shuddery moan. Any other man would have screamed or cried in terror, but Mick understood him. He knew exactly what he wanted. He understood that Wren was pursuing true intimacy by entering the holy sanctum of his body and experiencing every aspect of it. He licked his teeth, tasting blood. He sucked the wound as he rolled his hips, chasing another high brought upon by the essence of his lover.

The tastes and sensations stimulated his arousal, making heat and pressure well. An indignant hunger for more accompanied that arousal. It made him curious as to what would happen if he were to buck wildly. He began to hasten his pace, ensuring that it would be a slow and gradual change, barely noticeable until it was already too late. It brought him relief, to be pleasing both himself and the man he loved faster and harder. His breaths turned to heated, desperate huffs. A carnal desire to defile and violate blossomed from within, taking over his everything and stimulating his everything. Hearing the sound of flesh against flesh allowed his vile desires to grow and fester until he was thrusting into his partner at full force. He could feel Mick’s cock pressing up against his hips as he was used and pampered.

Listening to him moan and mewl brought out something terrible within Wren. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t bear the thought of pausing for even a moment. Those wondrous sounds had hypnotised him, entranced him and trapped him in this sinful pleasure.

He slammed into his prostate and heard him cry out in ecstasy. ‘’You make such beautiful sounds…’’ Wren purred, feeling the end on the horizon. ‘’Are you close, liebling?’’ He already knew that Mick would finish early. That to him was part of this arrangement. He could not expect him to last. Mick had nothing to say, all words had been drowned out by his whimpers and moans. He chuckled darkly, pleased by the sounds.

Mick let out a long, climactic groan as he reached his peak. He felt cum spurting onto his body as he bucked his hips. He waited until his partner came back to reality before he made a show out of it. He collected the product of their lust with his fingers and licked it off in an exhibitionistic manner. A violent, electrifying shudder ran through his system as he tasted it. It dawned upon him that this was the fruits of his labour, the prize for his hard work. Perhaps this was the true substance of the man he loved, the aspect of him that only he had the privilege of baiting out. Another taste was all it took to bring his orgasm dangerously close.

He rolled his hips, rutting like an animal against Mick. He forced his cock all the way in and out and felt the steadily rising pressure from inside until it was unbearable. Release was so tantalisingly close and he only had to work for it. Animalistic sounds emerged from him, purrs and groans of exhilaration and untainted delight resounded from his throat. For so long he had been dreaming of this moment, imagining the sheer satisfaction of climaxing inside of the man he loved and forever claiming him as his own.

_His. Forever._

That thought brought Wren over the brink and to his climax. The excitable groans from him metamorphosised into howling, manic laughter. It was crazed and thrilled in sound, rich with the high that burned through him. Mick was talking, the noise panicked and frightened. Wren could hear his voice and yet he could not understand a word. He knew he had gone mad. This terrible, marvellous impulse confirmed it. Something inside of him had snapped. He had ascended beyond normalcy and was now free to roam in his personal, blissful madness. He grew louder, stronger and wilder. He had finally embraced mania’s kindness, its love and its charity. It belonged to him as much as he belonged to it. He couldn’t stop. His laughter grew hoarse and tired as his throat was abused and scratched. The euphoria fizzled out until only a rasp escaped him.

He pulled out and slumped, utterly spent.

**~***~**

‘’Mm… that was quite something, wasn’t it?’’ Wren’s voice was cracked and broken, as that roaring, crazed sound had ripped it apart.

‘’It was real nice...’’ Mick mustered, pulling Wren in for a gentle kiss. ‘’Thanks, luv’. For… everythin’.’’

‘’It was no trouble. I’m just glad you enjoyed it.’’ He chuckled to himself, the sound hoarse. ‘’See? It is not such a scary thing.’’

‘’It got a bit frightenin’ near the end, I gotta say.’’ He replied. Never in his life had he seen that happen. One moment, Wren had been perfectly calm and content, the next, he’d been… _different_. It had been like watching a dog turn rabid. His eyes had been wild, voice high and he’d been grinning like a maniac. His laughter could have effortlessly shattered the windows. The sound was still ringing in his mind, ricocheting like a bullet.

‘’I tend to get a touch… _overexcited._ ’’ Wren admitted abashedly.

‘’Just a touch? Nah, mate, ya were over the bloody moon.’’ He retorted.

‘’How could I not be?’’ Wren purred, planting a fleeting kiss on his cheek. ‘’Especially when you were doing _so_ well…’’

‘’Keep talkin’ like that and we’ll end up doin’ it all over again.’’ He chuckled.

‘’That's not a bad idea.’’ Wren twisted his voice in such a way as to make a suggestion.

‘’For fuck’s sake, Wren!’’ He laughed, playfully slapping the man across the face. ‘’We’re gonna have a shower and then have brekky. I think we’ve had more than enough bloody excitement for today.’’ He outstretched his hand.

Wren gave in and took his hand. ‘’Shall we?’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wren please stop losing your mind every chapter - the management team 
> 
> I've noticed that in literally every fic I write medic bites someone... I think I have a problem. God, you could make a bingo game out of recurring themes/ideas in my works.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grab your popcorn!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing too fast help me

For once, Mick ate at the dining table due to the rare spot of rain that had graced the dry, arid bush. He watched the unusually heavy downpour as he waited for Wren.

Mick was always fascinated by how drastically different the outdoors were when even the slightest drizzle of rain struck, no less when a whole storm came. Things became more lush and vibrant, with weeds sprouting in the leaf litter, small waterholes forming and vines creeping up the trees. Of course, when no rain came for weeks on end, those new plants would die out and the water would disappear completely, leaving the ground as bone dry as before. Mick liked it though, even if that sudden beauty was only temporary.

Mick was still sopping wet from bringing his chooks back into their pen. Water dripped from his hair onto the table, occasionally splashing his toast. His singlet was practically clinging to his chest and his pants were unpleasantly heavy with water. His poor girls had been soaked as well, and looked more like drowned rats than healthy, plump chooks. The rain had been hot, like the air itself. It made him feel nostalgic, for the springs of his childhood when he would play in the rain with the family dog.

He grew tired of waiting for his boyfriend and went off to find him. Mick walked to the bedroom and found him there, browsing the wardrobe for something to wear. He noticed how the bloke had combed his hair and dried himself off perfectly after their collective shower. He browsed through the wardrobe meticulously, thoughtfully considering each option before moving on.

‘’Fuckin’ hell, Wren, you’re like a princess tryin’ to pick out a dress for the bloody ball!’’ He joked, chuckling to himself. ‘’Ya can have your brekky naked if that’s easier for ya, fusspot.’’

‘’Call me old fashioned but I would much rather be a princess than a pig in rags.’’ Wren turned his head just enough to display his cocky smirk. ‘’No offense, of course, herr schwein.’’ He winked.

He knew that was a shot at his outfit. He didn’t care. It was comfy and that was all he wanted. If that wasn’t up to Wren’s standards, so be it. ‘’Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll feed your brekky to my girls.’’

‘’Ooh, are you threatening me, Mick?’’ He taunted, finding a nice jumper from the wardrobe and slipping it over his head.

‘’You bet I am.’’ He strode over and slapped Wren on the arse, liking the resounding slap it made. ‘’Hurry up and put some pants on or I’ll smack ya a new one.’’

‘’Tempting,’’ Wren said and deliberately bent over to flaunt himself. ‘’Go on, then.’’

‘’Fuckin’ christ…’’ He hissed, burying his head in his hands. There was no winning with this bloke.

Wren stood upright and fetched himself a pair of pants. ‘’That’s what I thought.’’ He stepped into them with ease and did the fly up. He turned around fully and scowled. ‘’Why are you so _wet_?’’ Wren said, instinctually touching Mick’s face. He showed off his palm, which shined with water.

‘’Ah, I had to get my girls in their pen. The last thing I want is for them to get stuck in the storm, y’know?’’

‘’And in the process, you got yourself caught in the storm.’’ Wren scolded. ‘’Silly boy...’’

‘’You’ll change your tune when they lay a mountain of eggs for us tomorrah mornin’ as thanks.’’

‘’I will change my tune when you dry yourself off.’’ He cocked his thumb to the bathroom. ‘’Gott! You’re dripping everywhere!’’

Mick looked down and was met with a rapidly growing puddle of water at his feet. ‘’Shit, you’re roight.’’

‘’When am I not?’’ Wren said, gently pushing away to give him a head start to the bathroom.

Mick grabbed a towel from the bathroom and hastily ruffled his hair with it. He wiped his face and even did his legs until he was a tolerable level of damp. He wrung his clothes out and felt an immediate relief.

He went to the dining room and smiled at Wren, who had finally dressed himself and taken his seat. Despite the bountiful plate of food before him, he hadn’t even started. ‘’What’s wrong with it?’’ He asked, furrowing his brows.

‘’Nothing. It’s merely polite to wait for everyone else.’’ He rolled his eyes as if Mick was stupid.

‘’Does it look like I care about what’s polite, darlin’?’’ He pointed to himself. ‘’I don’t want it gettin’ any fuckin’ colder and knowin’ you, ya probably want to dig right in, don’t ya, princess?’’ He teased.

‘’I do.’’ Wren admitted, picking up his knife and fork. ‘’And can you blame me? It looks incredible.’’ He said, cutting into the meat first. It brought him so much joy to see, as he put all the love into the meat. Sure, he grew the veggies and his girls laid the eggs, but butchering was where all of his love went. And he made sure that Wren knew that.

‘’Gott…’’ He sighed. ‘’When I die, you should eat me. It would be sinful to waste me, especially with your talents.’’ There was a certainty in his tone that brought power and conviction to his words.

‘’You’d be tough, luv’.’’ He retorted, throwing away the romantic sentiment in an instant.

‘’Is that a clever way of saying that I’m old?’’ Wren scoffed as he put another forkful in his mouth.

‘’Take a guess, mate.’’ He returned to his neglected breakfast and finished off his toast.

‘’Well, even tough meat has its uses.’’ Wren suggested.

‘’It does.’’ Mick agreed.

With that, a wave of silence crashed over their conversation. For the moment, there was little else to say. He assumed Wren was just as hungry as he was, if not more so because by god, the bloke could eat. It was flattering, to see Wren enjoying it so much that he had stopped flapping his tongue for a minute. He could hear the pitter-patter of harsh rain from outside and the occasional deep rumble of thunder. He thought it to be rather calming, like pleasant white noise. He would gladly fall asleep to sounds like that, especially with Wren beside him. He wanted to curl up with him, kiss his body and nuzzle against him until he fell asleep.

However, the peace didn’t last, as Wren couldn’t keep quiet for long and turned the page to the next conversation. ‘’So,’’ He took a sip of his coffee, deliberately catching his attention before continuing. ‘’I was dismissed from my job.’’

Those words stabbed him like a sword. He was dumbfounded. ‘’You of all people got the sack?’’ It had come out of the blue.

‘’Mhm.’’ Wren said glumly. Any semblance of a smile was now a flat, cold line. It wasn’t quite anger, nor was it sadness. It was an emptiness he couldn’t place. ‘’Coincidentally, it was the same day you threw a fit at the clinic.’’

‘’Shit.’’ He bit his lip, feeling guilt shake his system. ‘’I’m real sorry, luv’. I wouldn’t’ve done that if I knew it would get ya fired.’’

‘’You are not to blame.’’ He said the words stoically, coldly as if he had been frozen over by some unreadable feeling. ‘’In actuality, a few co-workers of mine were at fault.’’ He twirled his fork in the air, as if searching for something to stab. His eyes were on Mick’s but it felt as if the bloke was seeing through him and into the past.

‘’What’d they do?’’ He was genuinely curious.

Wren’s unrelenting, unfeeling gaze was boring into him and working its way under his skin. It made him feel like there was an army of tiny spiders running up and down his insides. ‘’To put it simply, they provoked me.’’ There was something deeply unsettling about hearing Wren speak this way, devoid of even a hint of expression or emotion. It was all so _unfeeling._ ‘’More accurately, they provoked _us,_ Mick _._ ’’ The crawling sensation only grew with every word until it felt like there were dozens of birds flapping their wings inside of him.

‘’What do ya mean? You’re bein’ cryptic, darlin’.’’

‘’They were running their mouths about us.’’ He heard the faintest bit of anger burning into his voice, as if the ice was beginning to thaw. ‘’It was not my failings, actions or even my _character_ that justified such terrible things in their minds, rather, it was the simple fact that I am in love with you!’’ He bared his teeth in a near feral snarl _._ His hands were tense, his face red and his voice a roar. The ice was burning now and had melted away into nothing but steam. ‘’They were saying the filthiest things about us, Mick. They think that what we have is disgusting and perverse when that could not be any further from the truth!’’ With every word, his passion grew.

‘’Fuckin’ cunts.’’ He grumbled.

Wren stared with an intensity that made him shudder. ‘’That hatred brought me to the brink, Mick.’’ He said it softly, losing his fire in an instant. Only ash remained and the waning heat of a dead flame. ‘’I was so very tired of it all.’’ He muttered. ‘’And to see so called professionals behave so childishly broke me.’’ He looked distant, as if he was somewhere else. His voice sounded dead, as if it were devoid of all energy and life. ‘’I remember wanting more than anything to punish them all but I could only get one.’’ He closed his eyes, letting out a wistful sigh. ‘’I choked him and even now I wish that I had done the job properly.’’ Wren balled his fist, as if grabbing a throat in his mind’s eye.

He felt his heart stammer. ‘’The cunt deserved it.’’

‘’They all deserved it and more.’’ Wren said flatly.

‘’Yeah. A lot more.’’ He took a long swig of his coffee.

‘’We should kill them.’’

He nearly spat his drink out. That was too far and even Mick could recognise it. ‘’Woah, luv’. It’s okay. It’s in the past, alright? Ya don’t have to worry about it anymore.’’ He reassured, trying to calm Wren. He knew it was stupid to try to kill many people at once, especially if they were somewhat known in the community. The anonymity of the city could help… but there was still so much risk. There were potential witnesses, onlookers and even cameras. Not to mention, a long drive back where they could be pulled over or god knows what.

‘’I thought you wanted them to suffer.’’ The statement was tinged with bitterness. ‘’You just said so.’’

‘’Wren… I jus’ think it’s too far and jus’… not necessary.’’ He said, hoping that Wren would understand. ''It’s so much effort and hassle and for what? Revenge?’’

‘’It wouldn’t be at all difficult… I could simply invite them all over for tea as a formal apology. From there, we would only have to trap them in the building and restrain them.’’ He chuckled darkly. ‘’And then we could do whatever we wanted.’’

‘’Don’t ya think it’d be suspicious if – I don’t bloody know – the wife went off to yours and never came back? It has too many risks, darlin’. I’d love to slaughter ‘em, but we can’t without gettin’ into trouble.’’ He was hoping that it would make Wren see reason, but it only encouraged him to change his strategy. ‘’People would find out eventually, y’know. There’d be a link between ‘em if they all came over for supper.’’

‘’Alternatively, we could kidnap them individually at different times. That way, there would be no connection. It wouldn’t be at all difficult. In my time working at the clinic, I learned of where each lives and their respective routines. It would merely be a matter of finding an appropriate place and time.’’

‘’Still, it’d be in the city. You know how crowded it is!’’ He cried, desperate to get Wren to understand where he was coming from.

‘’Mick… don’t be silly.’’ He cooed. ‘’That can prove to be very helpful.’’ He said, grinning from ear to ear. ‘’Because there are so many people, many believe that they are safe in their perfect little neighbourhood or outright choose to ignore their suspicions because they think that someone else will come and help, when in reality, everyone thought the same thing. And the result is a particularly helpful bout of inaction.’’ He swept the cowlick off his forehead, chuffed with himself. ‘’Trust me, my dear, I have done many terrible things in my time. I am no stranger to things like this.’’

‘’We can’t risk slaughterin’ ‘em all. We’ll get caught!’’ He pleaded.

‘’Not if we’re clever.’’ Wren retorted. He leant over the table with a sinister, excitable gleam in his eyes. ‘’Just imagine it, Mick. We could kill them slowly. We could make the last stretch of their lives miserable. We could torture them and make them hurt. We could cut them up, gut them, skin them alive, pluck their teeth, rip off their nails or even remove each of their organs individually until their bodies could no longer cope…!’’ He sucked in a breath, heaving with the thrill of the thought. ‘’We could break their minds. We could feed them the entrails of their fellow men, make them fight for a drop of water, deprive them of sleep…’’ His smile grew wider. ‘’We could have so much _fun_!’’ He exclaimed, voice twirling with happiness. His words were an enticing offer, playing to his sadistic tendencies, promising bloodshed and the most wonderful thrills. It was inviting, and yet, he knew it was a terrible idea.

It seemed that Wren couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. ‘’No, Wren. We can’t. As much as I’d like to, it’s too dangerous.’’

‘’How? Explain to me how we could possibly be caught.’’ He huffed, growing impatient.

‘’What if someone sees our faces while we’re snatchin’ ‘em? Or… Or catch the number plates on our cars? What if a camera sees us? What if we’re pulled over on the way home, huh? What if they see us and get away? What would we do? They’d be on guard, then.’’

Wren merely laughed it off as if he’d said something fucking hilarious. ‘’There is no need to be so nervous, my love.’’ His heart stopped for a moment. That was a new name. But it was dirty. It was to distract him from the matter at hand. ‘’It will be perfect, I promise.’’

‘’Wren! Ya can’t jus’ ignore me like that. Ya can’t ignore the risks! The last thing I want is for us to end up behind fuckin’ bars for the rest of our bloody lives.’’

‘’As I said, Mick. This will go off without a hitch.’’ It wasn’t a ‘what if’ anymore. It was a ‘will’.

Mick began to panic. His nerves burned up and before he knew it, his words were aflame. ‘’Darlin’, ya have to listen to me! This is a shit idea. Ya can’t get us both in trouble jus’ because ya have some petty score to settle with some fuckwits!’’ His voice rose for the first time in years.

Wren froze. His lips moved but no words came out. His lashes fluttered and then he stood up, placing both hands on the table. ‘’I am _not_ being petty.’’ He snapped. ‘’And how dare you even suggest that this is just a score to me. I am protecting us!’’

‘’Look, luv’, they’re not a problem, anymore. They’re jus’ about three hours away from us and they’re never gonna be a bother ever again. Why don’t we jus’… calm down and pretend like it never happened?’’

‘’You don’t understand, do you, Mick?’’ He snarled. ‘’These people don’t deserve their lives. They lost that privilege the moment they crossed us! It should be our responsibility to take them away. They are disgusting little rats and we must exterminate them before they breed more filth!’’ He spoke quickly, with passion and conviction. His mind was set. Mick knew there was no changing it but he would try and try again until he listened.

‘’Darlin’, please, I know you’re angry but surely ya can see that this isn’t worth doin’. We need to jus’ forget about it—‘’

‘’—No!’’ Wren yelled, slamming his fists against his table, causing the plates to thud against the wood and the table to shake. His coffee cup tipped over, the contents spilling onto the table and a knife cluttered onto the floor. Mick instinctually jumped, feeling his system flaring with so much adrenaline that he wanted to run. ‘’We are going to kill them and you will do it with me!’’ There was a wild, crazed look in those mismatched eyes. His teeth were bared and his breaths had turned into rapid huffs. His hands were tense and his body taut. He looked like a beast, ready to strike. All it would take was one wrong word and he’d pounce.

Mick knew better. He would say nothing at all. He would not poke the bear. He would submit and just maybe, he wouldn’t be clawed.

When given no response, Wren turned and stormed off without a word.

**~***~**

Wren didn’t want to be in this place. He didn’t want to feel all of the terrible things that stomped around in his mind, crushing all the peace that once resided there. He needed to get away, he couldn’t bear this quiet, this thick misery hanging in the atmosphere and the fury that continued to singe his throat.

He strode to the bedroom, hoping to hide himself for a while. He needed to be away from Mick. He needed to calm himself. Hopefully his absence would give Mick something to think about. Perhaps the Australian would weep from the crushing isolation that he feared so much. Wren would let him sulk and wail until he saw reason and came crawling back. Maybe the bushman would fall to his knees with tears streaming down his face as he pleaded for forgiveness. Such thoughts were comforting, like kisses pressed to his troubled mind.

He slumped on the bed, practically falling into it. The softness of the blankets were about as soothing as a loving hug and he found himself snuggling into them. He loved them, and yet he hated them. He wanted to rip up the sheets, tear into the mattress and cut up the blankets. He thrashed and kicked at the mattress until he was exhausted.

He splayed out like a relaxed cat. However, he was anything but. His mind was a raging, violent storm of angry, furious thoughts that crashed against his consciousness like heavy hail. It was all so _infuriating_ that he could hardly breathe. His mind conjured fantasies of brutality, cruelty and irresistibly depraved violence. He thought of a personalised prison for the sinners and specialised, beautiful punishments for their folly. He closed his eyes, seeing a flood of blood in the darkness. He could almost smell the rich iron and the fear. He dreamt of the screams, the tears and the cries for mercy. None of which would ever be answered. He thought of the knives, the saws, the whips and the hammers. Anything could be a passage to ample, just punishment. Anything could be a vessel to true joy. He wanted it so. He wanted to truly fulfil the urge. He would feed it and feed it until it was full for years to come. He could be satisfied and feel raw, unadulterated pleasure for days on end. His urge would gorge on raw brutality and for once provide him more than a fleeting excitement.

Wren felt a fluttery, pulsating feeling from within. Rage turned into an odd blend of inspiration and glee. He so wished to perform this scourge alongside Mick. He would avenge their love with him, he would torture the transgressors with him, coat him in their blood and entrails, make love to him in the high of righteousness and end it all with a triumphant feast.

It would be so _beautiful_.

And Mick had dared to call it petty. Mick had called his urges petty _._ He had called _him_ petty. He had deemed the irresistible call to vengeance petty! Mick would regret saying such things. Wren could punish him for his grievous error by pulling at the correct strings. He would consider himself a skilled puppeteer at the best of times, especially when he knew the inner workings of the puppets around him. Mick had many weaknesses and the most prominent was that nagging, everlasting fear of isolation. Wren knew that even a short period alone would make the bushman fall apart.

When he apologised and saw the error of his ways, Wren would put him back together. He would wipe his tears and kiss him sweetly. Until then, Wren would watch the tears spill down his cheeks and listen to him sob.

**~***~**

Mick wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Wren had locked himself in their bedroom and he knew that if he were to go in there, he’d be welcomed with a scowl and some nasty words rather than a smile and a kiss. He would have to wait for the bloke to cool off.

Knowing Wren, that could be a while.

The only question was what he was going to do with himself. Without his lover, there wasn’t a lot to do. The weather only made things more difficult. If it were a nice day, he could have gone into town, or gone swimming in the creek. But now, he was trapped indoors by the heavy rain and unyielding wind. He could see the leaves of the trees waving in the air, shaking and swaying with the harsh wind whilst being pelted by water. The doors were clacking and creaking with in the incoming gusts. Rain splattered against the windows, leaving the normally clear view a blurry haze of water. He knew that walking in this sort of storm would be simply awful. Even driving would be terrible, as he wouldn’t be able to see shit.

In essence, he was trapped here, within the remnants of a heated argument. The air was thick with the faded fire of Wren’s fury and it was heavy in his chest. It was a burden inside of him, one he wanted to cough up like phlegm so he could be rid of it. It wasn’t that easy, especially when every breath brought more of that nasty miasma into his lungs.

Mick looked to the table and noticed the half-eaten breakfast there and the mess on the floor. He let out a long sigh. He supposed chores were on the agenda today. He scooped the waste into a dish for his chooks to eat for their supper. He filled the sink and washed up, ensuring that everything was spick and span. Only the sloshing of the sink and the pounding rain filled the palpable silence. As he scrubbed and washed the dirty utensils, his mind began to wander. It was all muscle memory at this point, so his mind was let off the leash.

Already, an itch was forming from inside. He knew it was wrong, but his body wanted to walk in to that room and cuddle up to the man he loved. The words for an apology were on his lips but that only made him wonder what he wanted to apologise for. It was a cheap fix. Saying sorry would placate Wren, it would make everything all better. But that meant that he would go through with his terrible idea. Wren may as well just walk into the police station and turn themselves in at that point! A man as clever as Wren should know better than to chase a petty revenge.

But he supposed that had always been the German’s problem. He was angry. So very angry.

It was in the stories he told, his passion for violence and the way he spoke about those who hurt him. He had so much hate inside of him. Really, it was not a shock that something so small to Mick was outright enormous to Wren. Mick was used to name-calling and insults. Maybe Wren wasn’t. Or maybe what the doctor said was right. Maybe he was trying to protect him, even if it wasn’t necessary.

Mick shook it off. What was he thinking? The bloke wanted revenge. This wasn’t about him. It was just his bloodlust and his compulsive need to remove those who oppose him. Mick would love to beat the shit out of some bigots, but he knew better than to give in to his desires. Being cocky would get them both behind bars. He couldn’t let Wren do it and more so, he couldn’t do it with him.

His eyes betrayed that sentiment. They shot towards the hallway and to the bedroom door, where Wren was. It was more than an itch now. It was a nagging, biting sensation, like thousands of bull ants nibbling on his skin and burning the flesh with their venom.

Now he was pissed at himself. He was so weak and fucking miserable. He was like an addict, needing his next hit before he fell into horrific withdrawals. He couldn’t see Wren. He simply couldn’t. And yet, his system was begging him to go there and lose it all. He couldn’t even handle being without him for what, an hour? Mick sucked in a breath. He’d stay strong. He would keep Wren safe, even if it meant refusing the man he desired most.

**~***~**

Wren lost himself in a world of fantasy for hours on end. It felt as if he had drifted away, to someplace else where there were no restrictions. He could slaughter anyone and anything like pigs without consequence. It was a place where he could be a god. A deity of death, destruction and absolute depravity. He dreamt of ball dances with poisoned drinks, falling chandeliers and the most beautiful live music one could ever imagine. He thought of weddings turned into funerals, and funerals into weddings, he imagined entire towns going mad and slaughtering one another without a second thought.

So much bloodshed… it was a shame it was trapped within the prison of his mind. Perhaps it would never be unlocked. His fantasies would never bleed into reality. He knew that much. But it was so soothing to escape. It seemed that madness was visiting him as much as he visited it. He was not normally so disconnected from reality.

Miserable reality…

He was laying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant footfalls around the house. He could hear the whistle of the kettle, the sizzle of pots and the clink of plates. He could smell the potent meats, roasted vegetables and most wonderful flavours blending together and swirling into his senses.

How quaint. Mick was making supper. Perhaps more time had passed than he had initially thought. He knew what this was. It was bait, designed to lure him out of the safety of his den. It was to give Mick another opportunity to think lowly of him and dismiss an idea that would bring them so much happiness. Mick wouldn’t convince him. No, he was certain that they would do this.

Nothing could change his mind.

When the door opened, he felt a familiar flame reignite itself. He clenched his fists, feeling the fire rising to his throat. He saw Mick’s silhouette in the doorway, and he knocked on the open door.

‘’Hey, darlin’…’’ He began. His voice was soft and gentle, as if to calm a wild animal. ‘’I made ya some dinner.’’ He offered, cocking his thumb towards the kitchen.

Wren said nothing at all. Silence would cut deeper than hurtful words. It signalled blatant and utter rejection to the point where he would not even _acknowledge_ the bushman’s presence.

‘’Aren’t ya hungry?’’ Mick continued, voice quaking with a sudden desperation.

He let the silence linger.

‘’C’mon, luv’. If ya don’t say anythin’ I’ll chuck your supper out.’’ 

Wren did not care for empty threats. Mick wouldn’t dare to waste anything, even out of spite. It simply wasn’t in his nature. He kept his mouth shut.

‘’Foine, then. Be loike that.’’ Mick grumbled, closing the door behind him. 

**~***~**

Mick had been sent to the couch. For the moment, it was his prison. And he’d been forced to sleep here for the crime of pissing Wren off.

The German had claimed the bed and refused to let him sleep with him. It made him feel like a stranger, or worse, a tormentor. It made him feel like a right dickhead, even though he knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

And so here Mick was, laying on a scuzzy pillow with a blanket too small for his body. He cuddled up to the pillow, imagining his lover beside him. He closed his eyes and slowly, began to drift away. Every now and again, the nearby lighting would light up the darkness behind his eyes and thunder would follow suit, crashing as if it were ripping the sky apart. He began to drift off, feeling his mind growing fainter and further away until all thoughts faded out into nothingness.

That was until he heard the familiar squeal of a door opening. An unjust excitement began to brew and swirled around in his belly. He was so hoping that Wren would come to him, kiss him gently and invite him to bed. Maybe he had finally calmed down and would apologise and make it all better again. He kept his eyes closed, pretending as if he were asleep. He waited and waited for that kiss to come but it never did. Instead, he heard the thump of the fridge door opening and the clink of a plate being taken out.

Footfalls went all the way back to the bedroom and the door squeaked soon after. It stung. Wren didn’t want to see him. He had gone out of his way to completely avoid him. He had deliberately waited for him to fall asleep before even daring to go out. He wanted nothing to do with him. He was ignoring him. He was rejecting him.

Wren was abandoning him.

He pushed that thought away as hard as he could. It was a lie. It had to be a lie! His mind was lying to him, poisoning his reasoning with fear. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Wren loved him. He would never leave. He promised that he wouldn’t go.

But what if he had lied?

His brain was paranoid and sick and vile. He shut it up. Mick bit his lip. He could be strong. He could endure the loneliness. He could do it. He had done is for years and years. He could handle a lot more than a day. He would keep them safe. He would keep them together. Wren would thank him later. He would get over it by tomorrow morning. He’d wake up and just maybe, Wren would be beside him.

It would all be better soon.

*******

Days passed but it felt like months for Mick.

It was incredible just how spiteful Wren could be. The bloke had practically become nocturnal just to avoid him. He could hear the pipes of the shower when he slept, the clink of plates, the creak of the door opening and closing, the footsteps around the house and the occasional whistled tune.

It was maddening.

Wren was so close and yet hadn’t spoken a word to him in days. He was like a stranger, or worse, an enemy. Mick felt like he was living in a world of silence and loneliness like he used to do. Company was so close, but he couldn’t have it. It was cruel and torturous. The silence allowed his insecurities to fester and fearful thoughts to bloom like gloomy flowers. Bees of anxiety pollinated them and crossbred monstrosities made of thorns of loathing. He wanted to escape, he knew he could make it out of this miserable field of fear and insanity.

But that meant surrendering everything. It meant giving up.

He could deal with the isolation in the daytime, because he could busy himself in the garden and with his chooks. But in the night, it all came crawling in. The fear would come first, then it would be the memories, then the sadness and finally, the tears. Sometimes his eyes would burn from the tears, and red lines would be cut into his face by the stream of them rolling down his cheeks.

And then he would wake up the next morning, hoping that Wren had forgotten about everything.

But a man like him never forgets.

Mick couldn’t take much more. His fragile sanity was being chipped at by the crawling, bestial loneliness that crept towards him as he slept. It lingered by his side, licking its teeth, watching him and waiting for an opportunity to rip into his throat and eat him alive.

A beast like loneliness couldn’t starve itself for long.

*******

A week had passed.

Mick knew he was going mental. He had to be. His head was too loud. His body was tense and his mind felt foggy. He wasn’t sure what he was doing half the time, no less why he was doing it. He drifted off frequently, staring at nothing and everything just to see all the intricate details and sometimes to blur it out of existence. He spent his nights crying to fuzzy memories and forgotten voices. It felt like his brain was spinning and twirling in circles, making him feel the most terrible things over and over again. He couldn’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds before losing track of it.

Mick was also thinking about Wren.

A lot.

His mind was an evil thing. It was split in two, with one part of him needing to protect him and Wren at all costs while the other half simply wanted to give in and agree to everything. He would do anything just to be loved again. He hated all of this avoidance and spite. He wanted to be kissed and cuddled and loved. He wanted his touch, his gentle words and the kinder parts of him. He didn’t like this nastiness. He would do anything to be welcomed into bed beside him. He wanted to hear Wren’s voice. He was going mad without the company of the man he loved. He missed the laughter and the joy. This quiet was drilling into him, tearing into him and pulling at him. It was a constant reminder of what he had done.

But what had he done?

He sucked in a breath and stopped. His hand was in a tight fist, so tight, in fact, that his nails were digging into his palm, stabbing the skin. He wanted to see Wren. He missed him so much that it hurt. It hurt to pass by his room and to not go inside. It hurt not to be dining with him. It hurt to wake up alone.

It hurt. It hurt. It HURT.

He didn’t like the pain. He wanted it to be kissed better. He hated how much his heart ached. He itched for the touch of his lover. He wanted him. He _needed_ him. He wanted to be healed and soothed and restored. He hated all of this clutter in his brain. It was crowded and overflowing with ugly, ugly feelings and it was so overwhelming that he felt sick, like he was going to puke and cry and scream.

Before Mick could even process it, he was sobbing. It was loud and shameless and he felt the hum of the wailing from his throat. He hadn’t felt that hum in days. He had been as quiet as a mouse and now he was bellowing like a miserable little kid. He couldn’t endure this any longer. He was breaking. He was falling apart piece by piece and he would soon shatter. He needed to stop this. He had to fix this. He needed to make it better. He would make it so much better. He couldn’t do this anymore. He just couldn’t. He would go mad before he won this stupid fucking feud.

If giving in made Wren love him again, so be it.

He wiped his eyes and swallowed down his raspy sobs. He saw no other choice. He would surrender. He would do this. He had to. A life without Wren wasn’t a life at all. Mick knew it was so wrong. He knew it was stupid. But maybe Wren was right. Maybe it could be perfect, happy and pretty. Maybe it would be righteous. Maybe it was justified.

Yes, he was right. Wren was always right. Always.

Mick skulked to the bedroom, feeling the burden weighing heavy on his shoulders. It would soon be lifted. He told himself that there would be no more pain. No more hurt. He just needed to see him. There was no avoiding that fact anymore. Mick would be with him forever and ever and this couldn’t stop him from achieving that end.

**~***~**

The door was opened without warning. Mick didn’t even bother to knock this time, instead, he strode right on through.

Wren knew that this was what he had been waiting for. At last, his willpower had shattered, and he would submit to his desires. He had come crawling back to him, demanding his attention and most of all, his love. Wren shifted in the sheets but didn’t turn to look at him, letting him know he was awake without saying a word. The bushman hesitated for a moment, waiting for him to yell and scream and tell him to go away. But when he heard no protests, Mick climbed in beside him.

He could hear the man breathing. They were weak, rapid and shuddery. Some were hiccups, some were sniffles. Wren was well aware that he had been crying. Hell, he had probably been bawling his eyes out for the past week. But it had been audible this time. Violent and near catastrophic in sound. It sounded as if he were grieving. And he had been. He was grieving the loss of attention and care that he so craved.

And here he was, coming for his fix.

Wren turned over to face his weeping lover. He was met with a familiar image. The bushman’s cheeks were red, with a glistening trail of tears running down from his eyes to his jaw. The whites of his eyes had transformed into an ugly, exhausted pink and his eyelashes were wet with fresh tears. His lips were downturned in a miserable grimace and his face was splotchy from crying. He leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on Mick’s forehead. He allowed it to linger, so that the bushman could savour it. He could remember how good it felt. He could remember how awful it was to be without it. It was a warning that he could lose this if he continued to be so foolish.

Mick closed his eyes, submitting to the gesture.

Wren wiped his tears away with his thumb and kissed him on each cheek. He pecked him on the lips, just once. He pulled Mick into his arms and nuzzled against him, holding him and stroking small, repetitive circles on his back. He heard the man’s breath hitch. It was a tell-tale sign he was about to weep once more. This one would be different. The tears would be of relief rather than grief. They would be tears of acceptance, of adoration, of happiness. He felt them splashing down onto his chest, thudding against him like a gentle downpour. He could feel the bushman’s heated breaths and soft gasps. They transformed into whimpers and then into sobs. Wren listened for a moment, fascinated by them before remembering his role.

He was so very vulnerable, pitiful and miserable, like a child without their mother.

‘’Hush…’’ He cooed softly, planting a kiss on his head to calm him. ‘’It’s alright, Mick…’’

‘’D-Do… you s… still love m-me?’’ The words were an ugly stutter, broken up by hiccups and rasps.

‘’Of course I do… I love you so, so much… You have my heart, Mick… and you may keep it.’’ Wren whispered, letting his hands wander up to his hair to massage his scalp. ‘’I love you so much, in fact, that I want to kill those terrible, horrible people together. No other man would get the privilege of killing by my side, my dear. It solely belongs you and it’s because you’re so important to me that I want to do this.’’ He gently pulled Mick up to his level and closed the gap between them. He kissed the man lovingly and held him close. He pulled away only when he was out of breath. He caressed Mick’s cheek and looked into his eyes. ‘’I only hope you love me just as much…’’

‘’I-I do…’’ He stammered.

‘’Will you kill them with me, my love?’’

‘’Y-Yeah… I’ll do it with y…ya…’’

Wren smiled and pulled him in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wren is absolutely brutal jesus christ  
> the next part is going to be gruesome but hopefully very entertaining in the worst way possible!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's a long one but I promise there's a big payoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that this chapter is rather nasty and the next ones will be even more so. 
> 
> Happy 100k words lol

Mick parked his Ute down the road from the restaurant on a quiet, secluded neighbourhood road. The engine fell silent and so did the radio. He let out a long yawn and looked at the rear-view mirror. He first noticed that his eyes were still tinted pink, his lips were drier than the outback itself and then the trail of dark hickeys that ran down his neck. He smiled to himself, remembering the night before. His boyfriend had been all over him with non-stop kisses, touches, bites and nuzzles. He’d fallen asleep to the bloke saying all sorts of lovely things to him and woken up in his arms the next morning. He was so looking forward to being kissed and cuddled when he got home with their victim.

Mick stepped out of the car, walked to the carpark and sat down on a bench. The food joint had large windows out the front, giving a full view into the building. Mick supposed showing people what they were missing out on was a good way to invite them in. It looked to be a humble, family-owned business. It was just about oozing with passion and care, as the building was well kept with bright signs, new paint, and a full house. He assumed it to be peak hour, as the sun was only just setting, meaning that people were hungry for something for tea.

He pulled the notes Wren had written for him out from his pocket. A photo was paperclipped to the bottom of the soon to be victim. He was surprised to see a smiling, young and innocent looking shila in the bunch. He looked for defining features and committed them to memory. He squinted at the notes, trying to decipher Wren’s painfully eccentric handwriting. It was cursive and needlessly fancy. He spent far too long picking out letters from scrawls and words from curls but eventually, he could actually read it.

Apparently, she went to this place in particular once a fortnight without fail with her family to catch up. She lived nearby, and because of that, she walked home alone once they all parted ways. Wren had underlined that part, deliberately pointing out an opportunity. He had listed an approximation of her weight and height, stating that she was petite and would be easy to subdue if he chose to do so. He included the fact that she sometimes carried pepper spray on her person. Mick shuddered. The last thing he wanted was to be sulking and crying because his eyes were on fire. He checked his notes again, flipping it over and realising that there were more. According to Wren, she had a tendency to scream – which wasn’t good – was rather fit – which also wasn’t good - and had a ‘’particularly irritating voice’’. He couldn’t help but smirk at that one.

Wren had sent him to do this one alone, mainly because it was a one-man job. In the meantime, he would be setting up accommodation for their new guests. Even so, Mick still wished he had someone to talk to for the long drive there and back. He assumed that an unconscious chick wouldn’t be much fun.

He glanced at the restaurant and noticed that the shila in question was seated by the window. She was dressed in a frilly shirt with a floral skirt. Opposite to her was an old couple. He assumed those two were her parents. Next to her was a big burly bloke with the same curly, springy brown hair. He figured that was her brother. It seemed that dinner was nearly finished, with nearly empty plates and half-full glasses of wine. Hopefully he wouldn’t be waiting much longer. The conversation seemed to be lively, with laughter, smiles and closeness. Mick looked away from their table, feeling a bitter stab of envy piercing his heart.

Mick busied himself by observing the diners, the frantic waitstaff and the queue at the counter. He took a swig of his coffee. He normally didn’t drink coffee at night, but with a long drive ahead, he thought it was best to keep himself energised. By now, the sun had well and truly set and at last, he could see the family parting ways. Glasses of wine were downed, plates cleared, and wallets were opened. They split the bill and the old couple went to the car, the brother went down to his and the shila headed off on foot.

He took that as his cue. Mick was careful not to draw attention to himself as he got to his feet. He began to follow her. He pulled out his phone, pretending to be preoccupied. Every now and again, he’d glance at her, waiting for an opportunity to strike. This was a different sort of hunt than what he was used to. It was not done in the seclusion and privacy of the bush but rather, in the cramped and uncomfortably busy streets of the city. He was stalking his prey, rather than chasing it. It was far less thrilling but maybe he would enjoy what came after. This waiting and dawdling was more so Wren’s cup of tea.

At the moment, they were still on a busy street, which was filled to the brim with restaurants and cafes. It was no good for what he intended. She made a few turns and gradually, the number of cars on the road was reduced to nearly none. She turned into a path that led up into the suburbs. It wouldn’t be long now. Mick increased his pace just enough so that he could grab her when the time came. She went through a little side path – probably a shortcut – which was conveniently covered by overgrown bushes. It would hide both him and her from view.

Mick dashed up from behind, she turned around, but it was too late. He already had her by the throat. She tried to fight him, and her hands fumbled to rip his own hands away to no avail. Even when her long nails dug into his wrists, he didn’t let go. She struggled in his grip but was growing weaker second by second. She was such a small little thing in his arms, she was so delicate, like a flower that he could pluck the petals from with little effort. Her wide eyes looked to his in the darkness just before they faded out into quiet submission and she fell limp. 

He slung the girl over his shoulder and took a detour through the bushes to his car.

*******

Wren spent his day cleaning out the attic. It had been caked in dust, as if it had been untouched for decades. He rid the place of the dead mice and insects for his own comfort rather than that of his coming guests. He had been expecting the attic to be filled to the brim with clutter and junk but had been pleasantly surprised to find only a few items occupying the space. And even then, he could easily make use of them by repurposing them for the coming guests. There was some old furniture, including a functional lamp, a cracked table and a mirror. He shifted the table to be in the centre and put the lamp on it. It lit the room only dimly, with a yellowed light. He found some old farm equipment, such as animal troughs, beds, feeders and brushes. He even found a stack of buckets, tucked away in one of the corners. He was able to make use of some of those as well.

There was not a single window present in the attic, most would be upset by the fact, but Wren was not. The rise and fall of the sun would indicate the passage of time, which would help the soon-to-be captives stay sane. Darkness, on the other hand, would distort time itself. Days would feel fast and yet so painfully slow. Such instability would allow insanity to fester and thrive. The space was also small and cramped, with the roof forcing him to crouch or bend over in certain places. The confinement would be another alimental meat for madness to feed upon. It would be torture in itself, to be trapped in a dark, empty space for days on end. That suffering would accompany the true punishment and it would break them even faster. It would be gruelling and simultaneously wonderfully efficient.

Wren admired his work. He could imagine his guests here, gagged and bound, ready for their just punishment. This humble attic was now equipped to become a prison cell. No, it would be even better than that. It was going to transform into hell itself. He and Mick would be its despotic, merciless overlords.

He went down the stairs and the fresh air was an immediate relief. In the kitchen, dinner was busy cooking in the oven. He simply could not wait for Mick to come home, as their delicious cut of ribs had been marinated for hours and was only now being cooked. It would be wonderfully tender by the time the bushman came back with their prisoner.

Wren looked at the clock. That would not be for a while yet. He simply could not sit still, especially with the thought of his captive roaming like a wild beast in his mind.

He needed to busy himself and conveniently, the place was akin to a pigsty. What sort of host would he be with a filthy home? He thought to change that. Wren washed the dishes, mopped the floors, and removed some of the ghastly furniture and ornaments. He kept it subtle, so that the bushman would not even notice that some things were missing. It was for the greater good and if Mick complained, so be it. Wren tidied their bedroom, cleaned the bathroom and removed yet more junk from the cupboards. He had never expected to enjoy it, but all of this housework made him feel _good._ It made him feel like a housewife, or better yet, a dutiful husband. It was satisfying in a way, to cleanse this old house of age-old filth and to restore it into a state he could be proud of. He quite liked this role. Though it was considered a subservient position to be cooking, cleaning and organising, he felt a striking, delicious sense of power.

His spree of rapid cleansing did not stop there. He explored the house, feeling a sense of security in his solace. The upstairs end of the house was completely foreign to him – except for the attic – with rooms he had never seen before. There was another bedroom, with a large bed without a single crease in it. It was oddly clean and sterile, unlike everything else. The air was stale, and it felt… empty. There was no life in this room, it felt as if it had died long ago. He wondered if even Mick had set foot in this place in the past decade. There was a thick layer of dust on everything, whether it was the blankets, the bedside table, the ceiling fan, windowsill and even on the wooden floor. His boots had left distinctive prints in the dust as if it was snow. It made him feel as if he did not belong there, as if he were stepping into a graveyard in the dark of night.

He walked to the bedside table, noticing a vase there, full of brown, dead flowers. They were bone dry, as if they were fossilised. Just nearby was a wardrobe. He opened it, fascinated by this time capsule of a room. It felt as though he was opening a vile tomb. He only hoped no-one resided in it. Thankfully, there were only women’s clothes inside. Heeled shoes were at the bottom of all shapes and sizes. There were dresses, tops, and cardigans on the hangers. Inside a compartment was a case full of makeup.

They were dated items and severely out of style. Perhaps this had been Mick’s parents’ room at some stage. It felt so bizarre to be in the beating heart of Mick’s grief. This was the epicentre, the beginning and the end. And yet, the bushman housed this place and allowed that heart to beat. Wren’s instinct was to repurpose this room, but he knew better. This was a memento, a place the man likely went when he wanted to wallow in his misery. To take that haven away would create more than just misery. It would inspire anger and a different kind of grief; the loss of memories.

Wren closed the wardrobe, sealing the tomb once more.

**~***~**

The shila woke up while Mick was munching on a meat pie from a roadside café.

He wiped his gob and waited for the onslaught of either questions or incoherent screaming. She did neither, and instead, took in her environment. Her dark eyes examined the empty gravel road, then the car and finally, him. She looked at him blankly and examined his features carefully. Her eyes went to his hair, his eyes, his mouth, his neck, and his clothing. At last, her eyes lit up with recognition. She let out a little gasp, leaving her mouth agape. Her lips moved but no sounds would come out.

‘’Yeah, I know.’’ He said calmly. ‘’I wasn’t expectin’ to see ya again either.’’ He picked his pie back up and took a bite. The beef was hot in his mouth and melded pleasantly with the pastry. ‘’Y’know, luv’, if it were up to me, you’d be at home right now, probably in bed with – I dunno – your cat.’’ He looked to her and received frightened eyes in return. ‘’But that’s not how things turned out, is it?’’

She wriggled, attempting to escape. However, the restraints stopped her. Mick had only tied her up from the waist down, making sure that the restraints weren’t visible to other drivers. ‘’W…Why?’’ She choked out.

He took another bite. ‘’I don’t think I have to explain to ya that people don’t like gettin’ the sack.’’ He looked to her, offering a slight smile. ‘’Most of all, Wren.’’ He scoffed. ‘’He was mighty pissed off with you lot, all red as a beet and all that. He reckons that it was all your fault that he ended up… y’know.’’ Mick took another nibble and pondered it. ‘’Well, not entirely your fault. He thinks your mates are to blame as well.’’ He swallowed it down and patted her on the shoulder. She shied away from his touch like a scared bird. ‘’Either way, he put me up to this.’’ He grumbled. ‘’If it helps, the rest of your mates are gonna end up like this. Ya were jus’ unlucky enough to be the first.’’

She blinked rapidly, as if she was unable to absorb all the information at once.

‘’And we’re nearly home, by the way. I jus’ got hungry and needed to take a piss.’’ He gestured to the pie. ‘’I would let ya have a bite, but I don’t think ya want to share with a dirty pooftah that choked ya out.’’ He elbowed her. ‘’Well, maybe if I was straighter than a ruler you’d like some, eh?’’

She didn’t find it funny; she merely buried her head in her chest and began to sob.

‘’Oh, come on. If ya think I’m terrible, wait ‘till ya see Wren.’’ He groaned. ‘’He’s got all sorts of shit planned and I guarantee that you’re not gonna like any of it.’’ He finished off his pie and started the engine back up.

At the sputtery sound of the engine, she wriggled in her restraints with a sudden desperation. ‘’L…Let me go!’’ She wailed, finally gaining some fight. Her tears splashed onto the chair. She kept wriggling and writhing as if it would help. Mick knew better. She’d never get out of there.

‘’Nah, luv’. Jus’ because I’m bein’ nice to ya at the moment doesn’t mean I’m gonna let ya off the hook.’’ He reasoned. ‘’Way I see it, I’m doin’ what Wren needs me to do and that means bringin’ ya home whether ya like it or not.’’ He put the car into drive and continued on the road home. It would be around half an hour yet. ‘’And even if I were to let ya out, there’s nowhere to go but more fuckin’ bushland. You’d die out there, I promise ya.’’

Even as time went on, she didn’t calm down. If anything, she got more desperate. She began to yell for help to an empty road, she fought in her restraints and wailed louder and louder as they neared closer to the property. She was begging him to let her go, to stop this and to free her. He pulled into his land and opened the gate. He could hear her shrieking even from outside of the car. He parked the car just outside the home and hopped out. He opened the passenger door and grabbed the duct tape from the glovebox.

‘’Wren’s gonna want ya to shut your mouth b’fore ya go inside.’’ He pulled a strip long enough to cover her mouth with. ‘’He’d belt ya for hollerin’ y’know.’’ He tore the strip off with his teeth and slapped it over her mouth. It muffled the screaming into a dulled sort of noise. ‘’I’m gonna pick ya up now and if ya wriggle you’ll jus’ fall on the fuckin’ gravel.’’ He warned. With Wren just nearby he felt a need to be firmer. He hoped that it would impress the bloke enough for a long, loving cuddle. He scooped the girl up into his arms and carried her bridal style up the little staircase. He passed by his chooks on the way, which were happily roaming in the garden for some bugs. As he got on the porch, the front door opened.

Wren stepped out, bearing a wide, giddy smile. The moment the girl saw him, her eyes widened. Even though Mick had told her exactly who wanted her dead, she couldn’t believe it until she saw her captor in person. Wren strode excitedly over and before a word could even be said, kissed Mick on both cheeks before smothering him with pecks on the lips. ‘’Welcome home, dear.’’ He cooed lovingly.

‘’Did ya even look at what I got for ya?’’ He asked, looking down at the wide-eyed shila in his arms.

‘’Hm, I was half-expecting you to grab the wrong woman.’’ He chuckled. ‘’But you’re too clever for such a silly mistake, hm?’’ He was kissed again, and he felt a warm, happy buzz pulse around him. All that work was suddenly worth it. ‘’And remind me to thank you properly, schatz. I know that I asked a lot of you and that it was very painful for you to be away from me for so long. It is only fair that I compensate you for it…’’ He leaned in and invited Mick to kiss him. He gave him a gentle, lingering one.

‘’Is that an offer, luv’?’’

He chuckled mischievously. ‘’Mhm…’’ Wren slowly pulled away and redirected his attention to their new guest. He cleared his throat and finally greeted the shila, losing his sultry tone in an instant. ‘’Hello, Suzanna.’’ His voice became as flat as a board. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear in a way that was nearly affectionate. ‘’My apologies for ignoring you. I’m afraid I don’t enjoy conversing with someone so… _smallminded_. However, I would like to welcome you to your new home before Mick gets tired of carrying you and unceremoniously drops you.’’ He crooned and then realised what he had just said. ‘’On second thought, that is not such a terrible thing.’’ Wren’s beautiful eyes darted to Mick’s. ‘’Drop her, please.’’

She could only let out a stifled whine. It sounded like a plea.

Mick couldn’t refuse the man he loved. He simply couldn’t. And so, he let go, allowing Suzanna to drop to the ground like a heavy stone. She thudded against the wooden boards and cried out in pain. Mick grabbed her and she wriggled in his arms, desperate not to be dropped again. She tried to form words, but with the tape over her mouth, they became incoherent garbles.

Wren merely chuckled at the horrible noises. ‘’Yes, yes, I will answer your questions once you’re all settled in.’’ Wren said it as if he was about to bring a lost puppy into the house.

**~***~**

Wren observed Mick tethering Suzanna to one of the corners. He bound her to the sturdiest pillar, attaching her to it as if she was a vicious dog chained to a tree. He tied thick rope around her leg and then to the wood. She didn’t even struggle as he did it. She merely cried and whimpered. The pathetic display made Wren’s lips curl into a smile. There was a warm feeling growing inside, like a joyous steam rising inside of him. He was already enjoying this. A high was brewing in his mind, growing bigger and brighter like a magnificent star. Mick tightened it until she couldn’t rip it off, shake it off or even untie it. Wren hoped it would irritate her and carve permanent lines into her legs.

‘’Roight, walk towards me.’’ Mick took a few steps back and stood by Wren’s side. He felt the bushman’s calloused hands touching his wrist, asking for his touch. Wren took his hand and intertwined their fingers. He shot his lover a warm glance before returning his attention to the girl Mick had caught for him.

She hesitated but took around four steps forward. At the fifth, the rope reached its end and forcibly tugged her back. He considered that a success. He loved Mick’s handiwork. To say he was a natural with these things was a severe understatement.

He walked over to Suzanna, who squealed louder and louder as he got closer to her. He stood right at the edge of where she could walk, just in case she did something stupid. ‘’Hm… I’m quite glad that you were the first.’’ He grabbed her by the chin and forced her head upward so that she would meet his eyes. She would stare her judge in the face and witness the man who would slaughter her. ‘’I hate you the least, Suzanna.’’ He said coldly, tracing the silver-coloured tape with his index, teasing the idea of taking it off. ‘’I feel that perhaps you were merely… adapting to the opinions of your comrades, which is still a sin, of course, but it is less egregious than blind hatred, don’t you think?’’ He let her think for a moment, taunting her. ‘’However, that does not change the fact that you were a contributor in this.’’ He reminded.

She piped up. The animal-like whines sounded as if she was arguing with him.

‘’No? You don’t think you were at fault?’’ He said softly, cocking his head as if he was talking to a stupid child. He chuckled darkly, mocking her for saying something so absurd ‘’This may be news to you, but your opinion is no longer important.’’ He said gently, leaning in as if to kiss her. He would never do such a thing, especially with Mick watching from over his shoulder, but he wanted to use the closeness to taunt her. ‘’Only my opinion and that of my partner is of any importance, understand?’’

He could hear garbled ‘no’s and that snapped his patience in two. Wren slapped her across the face with an open palm. He made sure that it would sting.

‘’Perhaps your tiny mind can now grasp that I am in control here!’’ He snapped. ‘’Do you understand me?’’

‘’Mhmmh!’’ She nodded frantically. Wren was glad that she was the agreeable type and not difficult to convince, otherwise he would spend all of his energy on just one person. There had to be enough to go around for all three.

‘’Good.’’ He slapped her on the other cheek. ‘’That was for making me ask twice.’’ He held up his palm, reminding her of her folly. He turned to face Mick. ‘’Dear, would you like to unbind her wrists and show her the facilities?’’ He invited his lover to play this little game as well.

The bushman nodded and stepped into her turf. He grabbed her wrists and cut the bindings with his knife. She rubbed her wrists to soothe the pain there. ‘’So…’’ Mick began. ‘’This here is the loo.’’ He pointed to the bucket in the corner. ‘’If ya piss anywhere else we’ll whoop ya.’’ He warned, casually and effortlessly establishing a rule. ‘’This here is your bed.’’ He pointed to the floor. ‘’And this is your water. If ya spill it, ya don’t get any more for a couple days.’’ It was an old pig’s trough that was just about overflowing with water. ‘’I guess it could be a bath too if ya got a bit creative with it.’’ Wren had chosen it on purpose. It's presence alone would demean and humiliate their guests. There was one in each corner, ready to be used. ‘’And… I guess tea will come when we feel like feedin’ ya.’’ Mick looked to him. ‘’That’s all, yeah?’’

‘’I believe so.’’ He said, unable to hide his smirk. Watching the man he loved demean a defenceless woman made him feel yet more affection for him.

The woman looked up at him with wide, miserable eyes, as if the true horrors of her fate had finally settled in. Wren chuckled at that pathetic plea.

‘’Oh, don’t look at me like that, Suzanna… your friends will be here to keep you company soon.’’

**~***~**

Mick was of the opinion that he was the better cook, but Wren had gone above and beyond with dinner. The ribs had been deliciously tender and even the salad had been good.

‘’So, what’re we gonna do with her?’’ Mick felt like he was asking a dangerous question.

‘’Nothing, at least for the moment. We will keep her relatively unharmed until her friends can join her.’’ Wren replied and put his knife and fork together on his plate. The older man looked to his dirtied plate and grinned from ear to ear. It was a sinister smile, the type of smile the bloke had when he was planning something cheeky. ‘’On that topic, we should feed our guest, should we not?’’

‘’But there’s nothin’ left. We ate it all, luv’!’’ He pointed to the empty plates, pots and trays.

‘’Well, not _everything_ …’’ Wren’s eyes darted down to the scraps he had left behind.

Realisation struck like a hammer against his temple. This had been Wren’s plan all along. ‘’You’re a cheeky bastard, y’know that?’’ He chuckled, already liking the idea. Mick got up and scooped the scraps onto one plate. ‘’Dinner was amazin’, luv’. I reckon she’ll think so, too.’’ He said in passing as he went upstairs to get to the attic. He undid the lock on the door and went in, closing the door behind him as a precaution. He felt paranoid, but he knew it was better to be safe than sorry.

The girl was busy drinking from the trough. She used her hands to form a cup and sipped from the water she gathered.

‘’I brought ya somethin’ to eat.’’ He said it innocently, as if he wasn’t about to pull a cruel trick on her. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the plate. In the dim light, she couldn’t see what was on it. Mick placed it on the ground, just on the border of her reach. ‘’Enjoy, yeah?’’ He smirked, knowing she was in for a nasty surprise.

She stopped drinking immediately to eat her supper. She sat by the plate and picked up a rib, unfortunately for her, it had been picked clean by either him or Wren. She groaned and cursed at him in her restraints in a sudden fit of rage. In her hissy fit, she threw the plate at him. It missed his head by a long shot and crashed into the wall. The ceramic broke into shards and food splattered all over the floor.

‘’Fuckin’ hell!’’ Mick yelled and stomped his foot in anger. His patience had flown out of the window and rage had ignited his nerves. ‘’I give ya somethin’ to eat and this is how ya repay me? Trust me, luv’, you’re gonna regret that.’’ He snarled. ‘’Mark my words, when you haven’t had any brekky tomorrah and your belly is achin’, you’re gonna wish you’d swallowed your goddamned pride and had your dinner without all the fuckin’ drama.’’ He scolded, raising his voice at her as if she was a bratty kid.

Mick went over and began to collect the ceramic shards before someone stepped on them. Wren’s hand landed on his shoulder, surprising him. He didn’t even hear the bloke come in over the sound of his own voice. ‘’I can clean the mess, dear.’’ He said gently. His voice soothed his rage and twisted it into an odd sense of calm.

‘’Alright…’’ He gave in just because he was tired. ‘’Don’t be too long, I wanna go to bed.’’ Mick was exhausted and after a long day of driving, a cuddle with Wren was just what he needed.

‘’I will be there to kiss and cuddle you in a few minutes. I am quite sure you can wait that long.’’

**~***~**

Wren awoke to the sound of screaming. It was an effeminate scream, tinged with anger, grief, pain and the most potent terror one could imagine. Mick had woken up before him and he was staring at the ceiling. Even in the dark, Wren could tell that the bushman was irate. In any other circumstance, he too would find the shrieks bothersome. However, this was different. Those ghastly sounds proclaimed his success. The desperate, childish sound stated that he and Mick were succeeding. It signalled that they were well and truly on the road to triumph. It indicated progress, in that Suzanna was pathetically failing to endure her punishment. She was already breaking, even though he had done so little. She was receiving her retribution and failing to cope. Hearing her pain in such a raw, animalistic form pleased Wren to no end. Civility was crumbling at the might of agony and it would soon deteriorate into hysteria.

He cuddled closer to his lover and pressed his body against Mick’s. He nuzzled into his neck and kissed the spot he rested against over and over again. ‘’Pathetic, is she not?’’ He mumbled, his voice a croak.

‘’Pathetic isn’t the right word, I reckon it’s bloody annoyin’.’’ He grumbled. ‘’I jus’ wanna know how she got the tape off.’’

Wren giggled. ‘’Schatz… tape is a terrible gag.’’ He scolded Mick gently and planted another kiss on his neck. ‘’Saliva moistens the adhesive and eventually it just peels off.’’

‘’Fuck…’’ Mick sighed. ‘’Should I get a cloth or somethin’?’’

‘’No, she will tire herself out.’’ He said groggily.

‘’Speakin’ from experience?’’

‘’I am, yes.’’

Mick groaned when the wails endured for another minute. ‘’How am I s’posed to sleep?’’

‘’You will be able to in just a few minutes, I promise.’’ Wren muttered and worked his way up to Mick’s lips with kisses. ‘’I’m certain you can occupy yourself for that long…’’ He purred, stroking his lover’s bottom lip with his thumb. ‘’Especially with me in bed with you, hm?’’

Mick just shot him a look. God, he was hopeless with signals.

‘’I must admit that I am quite envious.’’ Wren prompted. ‘’I wish that I could be the one screaming.’’ He traced down Mick’s chest with his index. ‘’For different reasons, of course…’’ Wren considered that to be painfully unsubtle. There was no way his lover could miss it. Sure, it was an unconventional time to want a romp, but it did not change how blatant his words were.

‘’Hooley dooley… you’re wantin’ a shag even with a girl screamin’ upstairs.’’ Mick cried.

‘’Can you blame me?’’ He whined. ‘’I’m in such good spirits! Not only did I make our house look stunning, but we also successfully abducted her and on top of all of that, we had a fantastic dinner.’’ He exclaimed, hoping to convince Mick to bed him. ‘’It is only natural that I want to conclude the day in a similarly exciting manner, yes?’’

‘’I’m too tired, luv’, and I don’t want to listen to that.’’ The bushman dismissed him and rejected his blatant invitation. ‘’Maybe tomorrah mornin’…?’’ By his tone, Wren knew that to be a false promise.

‘’Unfortunately, that is not a possibility… If you recall, I have to go and find our next guest at sunrise.’’ He sighed, already dreading the morning he would be spending on an empty road.

‘’Roight… so you’re thinkin’ now or never, huh?’’ Mick scoffed.

‘’Not _never._ More so in a day or two and I simply cannot wait for that long.’’ Wren sounded desperate. It was difficult to hide it when he was itching for far more than a loving kiss on the cheek.

‘’You’re not gonna die without your daily dose of cock, darlin’.’’ Mick joked, chuckling lowly.

‘’It is far less than a daily dose at the moment, thank you.’’

‘’You’re keepin’ track?’’

‘’A starving man begins to notice when he has not eaten for days, does he not?’’ Wren realised he would do anything for the bushman to make love to him. He appreciated the more romantic gestures, with all the cuddling, nuzzling and kissing but he found himself longing for something absolutely lewd and unchaste. Wren was yet to combine fleshly pleasures with the bliss brought upon by pure sadism, but he knew that the end product would be nothing short of euphoria. At the moment, he only had one half of that magnificent high. It was almost torturous to know that he could achieve more. He could complete the other half if Mick were to help him.

‘’God, you’re such a bloody drama queen.’’ Mick joked.

‘’I like to think that is part of the appeal.’’ He replied.

‘’Keep tellin’ yourself that, darlin’.’’ The bushman pulled him close and nestled against him. His voice dropped low, to a soft whisper. ‘’Jokin’ aside, I love it.’’

‘’I know you do.’’ Wren wrapped his arms around Mick.

Neither he or Mick even noticed that the frantic screams had ceased from the attic.

**~***~**

Wren parked the car outside of the familiar home.

He had been to this middle-class home for a few work parties. He remembered each one vividly, mostly because they were so repetitive in nature. Despite being years apart, each party had been almost exactly the same. He would greet the host, chat idly with his colleagues, sip at a lone glass of wine and pretend that he was enjoying himself. Those parties had been so dull, so tedious and boring. He had hated each and every one and just seeing the plain, stock standard home made him feel a tingling irritation, like a rash under his skin. Thankfully, there was no party today. In fact, it looked to be quite the opposite. There was only one car in the brick driveway. That indicated to him that his target was home alone. His wife and his children were out at a weekly sport’s game and would be for the next two hours. It was a workday, meaning the neighbourhood was quiet. He did a quick check around. Nobody was outside apart from him and most people had the blinds closed.

Wren fetched the flowers and wine from the passenger seat. He had picked out his victim’s preferred brand and he knew that a personalised gift would inspire trust, or perhaps the thought that he was genuine. He only had one chance at this strategy, and he was almost certain that it would work. He stepped out of the vehicle and strode down into the front yard, which was decorated by a swing-set, a basketball hoop and an abandoned doll. He knocked on the front door and waited. He felt no fear. He had rehearsed his lines in his mind and was ready to play the part of a deeply remorseful aggressor when he was anything but.

The door opened and Frank flinched when he saw him. It was strange to see a man of such a gruff nature frightened for even a moment. There were faded bruises on his throat, where Wren had laid his hands on him. He was dressed in a singlet and tracksuit pants. He was a thin man, but Wren couldn’t help but notice that he had developed some muscle mass since the last time he saw him. Perhaps nearly being choked to death had inspired the man to grow stronger. Wren smiled not because he was happy to see him, but because Frank would be far less able-bodied when he was done with him.

‘’Hello, Frank.’’ He said softly. He played his vocal cords like an instrument, making his voice richly apologetic. ‘’I… I wish we were meeting again on better terms.’’ He said, looking at the floor to portray nervousness he did not quite feel.

‘’Why’re you here?’’ He asked, his gruff voice like sandpaper against his ears.

‘’I wanted to apologise for hurting you. It was completely unacceptable, and I feel just terrible for doing something like that to you. I hope that you can forgive me.’’ He cleared his throat and met his amber eyes. ‘’I thought that perhaps a drink together could heal the wounds, so to speak.’’ He gestured to the bottle he held in his hands. ‘’May I come in?’’

That seemed to calm the big man at the door. ‘’Okay, sure, Wren. Only a drink, though. The missus wants me to look after the kids and I can’t do that drunk, can I?’’ He knew that the man would not be able resist the idea of him begging for forgiveness.

‘’Oh, of course not.’’ He replied, wiping his boots on the doormat before walking inside. ‘’Are they around?’’ Wren asked, knowing the answer already.

‘’Nope. They went to soccer just a few minutes ago. You just missed them, I think.’’ He cocked his thumb towards the front door as he retrieved two glasses.

‘’Ah, that’s unfortunate. I was hoping to see them.’’ He put on a fake smile. ‘’Your daughter is such a friendly young lady.’’ He chuckled to himself. ‘’I still remember her showing me her dollhouse.’’ He trailed off and allowed his eyes to go to the bottle and then the wine glasses. It reminded him of his objective. ‘’May I?’’

‘’Go right on ahead.’’ Frank shrugged.

Wren poured the liquor into each glass and raised his. ‘’Cheers to healing, hm?’’

‘’Cheers.’’ The other man took a sip and the moment he put his glass down, the phone began to ring. Frank grabbed it off the countertop and looked at the screen. ‘’I have to take this. Excuse me for a minute.’’ He accepted the call and wandered outside to talk in private.

Wren’s friendly persona faded in an instant. He figured this was his opportunity to strike. He pulled a single pill from his pocket and placed it in his victim’s drink. He watched it fizz, with many white shards flying up at high speed before slumping and falling back down. The tablet crumbled and faded into nothing but fragments, which dissolved further into invisible particles. The drink looked to be untouched and Frank would not notice any difference when he made it back inside. Wren tapped his boot against the flooring, counting every second that went by. To say he was excited would be a severe understatement. He knew that his little addition would take some time to affect his victim. He so wished that it could be instantaneous.

He heard a goodbye from outside and put his friendly demeanour back on like a costume. He smiled pleasantly at the other man as he walked back in. ‘’Sorry about that.’’

‘’Don’t fret. I understand what it’s like.’’ He chuckled. ‘’My boyfriend used to get so upset when I took phone calls. I think he just hated losing my attention!’’ He laughed and revelled in the sudden discomfort on Frank’s face. He shifted in his seat and averted his gaze. ‘’Luckily for him, I hardly get even one these days. So, all’s well that ends well.’’

‘’Yeah. I guess so.’’ He sounded awkward and pained. Wren hated him. If he hadn’t slipped something into his drink, he would have grabbed the man by the throat and finished the job right there. He couldn’t stifle his grin when he sipped at the wine.

‘’I hope I picked out the right one. I heard rumours that you liked this brand.’’

‘’You probably grabbed the best one, Wren.’’

From there, Wren defaulted to small talk. It was safe, easy, and incredibly time consuming. He let Frank prattle on about his hobby, which so happened to be restoring old cars to working order. He pretended to be interested and asked question after question to portray a curiosity about it. He talked about his day-to-day activities, his children’s achievements and all sorts of dull garbage. Wren watched his soon-to-be captive slowing down and drifting away as the drugs took effect. Words became slurs, he often trailed off and slumped in his seat. His eyelids closed and eventually he collapsed.

Wren sighed in relief. He was so tired of talking about nothing and finally, the other man would be silent for a few hours. Maybe Wren would find a way to make him quiet for good.

*******

The man was still unconscious. Even when Mick bound him to a corner of the attic, he remained like a stone, unmoving and quiet.

His female counterpart was anything but. She was crying from her corner and curled up in a ball. Her sobs became whines and groans from the gag. She rocked back and forth, futilely trying to comfort herself.

‘’Do ya want me to get a gag for him?’’ Mick asked.

Wren pondered it. A gag was a temporary and often annoying solution. He wanted something permanent. ‘’…Not to worry, I already have one.’’ He reached into his pocket and drew the knife his lover had made for him. Mick shot him a puzzled look. Wren felt no need to explain, as it would become clear soon enough.

He sat his captive against the wall and his head lolled to the side. He forced the unconscious man’s mouth open and examined his mouth. The teeth were yellowing at the sides and the molars looked like gemstones among coal. He wanted to take one, but it was far too early. When Frank’s body turned cold, he would rip his prize free. For now, he could keep those diamonds. Wren put his hand in the other man’s mouth and grabbed his tongue. It was wet and warm and horrible, but in the moment, he barely noticed it. His goals took all priority over unpleasant sensations. He pulled at his tongue, stretching it out all the way and holding it steady.

Wren put his knife in there as well. He felt as if he was playing dentist. He held his knife and placed the blade against the thick muscle. He licked his lips and sliced across his pink tongue just once. He wanted to make this painful and slow, even if he would only feel it in his dreams. It only went halfway through, leaving a deep cut through it. He felt blood gushing out into the man’s mouth and onto his hand. At the feel of the delightfully warm fluid on his skin, he began to laugh. He could hear screams and wails from the other corner, but he could only smile wider. He did it again and only a thin, near transparent slither of, plump, elastic flesh held the two halves of what was once a tongue together. He grinned at Mick as he grabbed that futilely clinging half and ripped it off with his hand. He could feel the muscle snapping, bit by bit until it all broke away. His hand was coated in saliva and blood. He showed the torn pink flesh in his hand to his lover and giggled excitedly.

‘’See? We don’t need another gag.’’ He handed the cut of tongue to Mick. The bushman examined it curiously and after careful consideration, ate it. Wren clapped like an amused child and laughed loudly. It was the hearty sort, genuine, raw and rich with his excitement. ‘’Oh, Mick…’’ He breathed, feeling a deep, rippling pulse in his most sensitive areas. He raised his palm to his lover’s lips, allowing him to sample the blood on his hands. He shuddered in delight when he felt Mick’s tongue rolling up and down his palm. ‘’You are an _animal._ ’’ He whispered.

‘’If I’m an animal, you’re a bloody monster.’’ Normally, Wren would scold him for talking with his mouth full, but in this case, he allowed it.

Wren leant in and kissed him on the cheek. ‘’A very handsome monster, I hope.’’ He turned his hand over, exposing yet more blood for the bushman to taste.

‘’I never said ya were an _ugly_ monster.’’ He teased.

‘’I know… I just wanted you to tell me that I am incredibly attractive.’’

‘’Keep dreamin’.’’ Mick chuckled, bringing his hands to his lips, and kissing each one of his knuckles. He was waiting for his lover to take it further, but he merely pulled away. At this point, Wren was ready to grab Mick, shove him against the wall and rip his clothes off but he had an inclination that the bushman would not appreciate that. It was driving him crazy to be so unfulfilled. He felt ignored and _neglected_. He feared that he would have to be brash and blunt about his needs. Unsubtlety did not suit him but if he needed to behave like a wench to get Mick’s attention, so be it.

**~***~**

Mick crept back into the bedroom, holding a gift in his arms. His gift wasn’t chocolate or flowers, rather, it was an elderly woman. One he would recognise immediately. He’d tied her up and gagged her, though it didn’t stop her from trying to talk. He placed her on the ground and strode over to Wren, who was still asleep. He leaned over and kissed the bloke’s forehead over and over again until he began to wake up.

The older man’s unmatching eyes fluttered open and he smiled gently. ‘’Good morning.’’ He croaked.

‘’Mornin’, darlin’.’’ Mick slowly pulled away, revealing his surprise gift. ‘’Look what I got ya.’’ He pointed to the old cow of a shila he’d snagged for his boyfriend and felt his heart flutter at his reaction.

Wren sat up and peered to where Mick was pointing. ‘’Ooh! Very good!’’ He said excitedly, feeling a sudden alertness. The German pulled him in for a brief kiss and pulled away just enough so that they were nose to nose. ‘’When did you go out? I don’t believe that I heard you leave last night.’’ He asked quietly.

‘’I don’t bloody know. I was jus’ restless, so I nicked off.’’ Mick shrugged. ‘’And ya left your notes on the bench, so I have to blame ya too.’’ He pecked him on the lips. ‘’She’s to blame as well, seein’ as she left her door unlocked. It’s like she wanted me to come in and knock her out.’’ He chuckled.

‘’You leave the door unlocked, schatz.’’ Wren commented, teasing him with a sweetened tone.

‘’Shut your pretty mouth, Wren.’’ He shushed him with a lingering kiss.

He parted and smiled at him. ‘’I am not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.’’

Mick ignored him and instead, picked up the elderly woman with ease. He couldn’t spend his whole morning teasing Wren, as nice as it sounded, he had things to do. ‘’C’mon, luv’. Go and get some pants on, we can’t sit around chattin’ each other’s ears off when we’ve got work to do.’’

‘’Must I?’’ He sighed dramatically.

‘’Yeah, ya wanted this so you’re gonna pull your weight.’’

‘’Yes, dear.’’ Wren replied. ‘’Please take her upstairs, I would rather not expose myself to an old crone.’’

Mick grabbed the saggy woman and took her to the attic. She grumbled and groaned all the way there. He ignored her and placed her in her corner. He gave her the same treatment as the rest by binding her to the pillar.

He took a step back to admire his and Wren’s work. It was almost beautiful, to see three offenders tied, gagged and humiliated in the corners of a dark attic. None of them would ever have a kind touch ever again. They wouldn’t get the pleasure of a normal conversation, a proper dinner or a long shower. They wouldn’t see their families, friends or even strangers. Only each other, himself and Wren would exist in their suddenly tiny world. They were going to be punished and hurt over and over again. They would never feel safe again. There would only be pain and misery.

Wren was going to be so happy.

They were going to be so happy.

**~***~**

Wren thought that this achievement warranted a celebration.

He was going to throw a party for himself, Mick and their three special guests. And what sort of party would it be without a cake?

Dressed in apron, buttoned shirt, and slacks, he worked the mix in the bowl until it was perfect and ready to be baked. It was a simple chocolate cake, but he thought that there was a beauty in simplicity, especially when it came to homemade desserts. Mick passed by, sipping at his coffee. Upon seeing the mix, he put a curious finger in and tasted it without a moment’s hesitation.

Wren scowled at him. ‘’Mick!’’

‘’What? I have to try it.’’ He sampled another. ‘’It’s good shit, by the way.’’

‘’You will make yourself sick.’’ Wren warned. ‘’And now it is contaminated with your saliva.’’

‘’That’s too bad.’’ The bushman dismissed his concerns with a carefree tone. ‘’We’ll be spittin’ on the cunts soon enough. I don’t think a drop of spittle will hurt ‘em.’’ He smiled at Wren. ‘’And you’re always kissin’ me, so ya get more than a bit of my spit on the daily.’’

‘’You have a point.’’ He admitted. ‘’But if you keep eating the mixture, I might just have to stop kissing you.’’

‘’We both know that ya can’t commit to that.’’ He taunted. ‘’Ya can’t keep your horny little hands off me, no less your mouth.’’

‘’Gott, I love you.’’ Wren muttered under his breath, making sure it was loud enough for Mick to hear.

He poured the thick concoction into the tray and placed it in the oven, he bent over further than he should have and hoped that his lover would notice. Unfortunately, he didn’t say a word. He only hoped that he at least looked at him.

Wren thought to put a record on. Some music would greatly contribute to the good spirits of a party.

*******

The delightful smell of cake filled the house and before long, it was ready.

He adorned it with candles, iced it and put it on a decorative plate to be served. He picked it up, feeling a sense of pride as he did so. Mick was waiting upstairs, with the guests as he had been told to do. Wren went to the attic and strode on through as if it were a grand entrance.

‘’Good afternoon, my wonderful guests!’’ He exclaimed giddily. ‘’I wanted to celebrate our… _gathering_ here and what better way to do so than with a party?’’ He knew that they could not respond to him but if anything, that made it better. He would never have to tolerate their irritating words ever again. ‘’Mick, dear, would you mind removing the gags from these lovely ladies?’’

‘’Are ya sure that’s a good idea?’’ Mick hesitated.

‘’If they want to keep their tongues, they will stay very quiet.’’ He prompted, gesturing to Frank in the corner. ‘’Frank, would you mind showing your tongue – or rather the absence of it – to Grace?’’ The man complied in a heartbeat and opened his mouth wide. Even in the dim light, one could see that a significant portion of his tongue was missing. ‘’Noisy guests do not get the privilege of cake, either.’’ He cooed in a sing-song voice.

Mick considered that a good enough warning and ripped the gag out of Suzanna’s mouth first. When she didn’t scream, yell or holler, he walked over to Grace and tugged it out.

Wren began to cut the cake into even slices. As he cut it, words spilled from his mouth. They had been roaming around in his mind for far too long and it was only natural that he wanted to free them now that he finally had the opportunity. ‘’Seeing as you three are now permanent residents of this house, I thought of some crucial rules for your stay here.’’ He served Mick first, knowing that he had been dying for a taste even before it came out of the oven.

‘’Thanks, darl’.’’ Mick said softly.

‘’First of all, I would like to make it clear that Mick and I have no intentions of freeing any of you. This attic is where you will live, and it will be where you die.’’ He cut another slice and suckled the excess icing from his fingers. ‘’And for your information, you will not be dying of natural causes.’’ He snickered, shooting Mick a knowing look. ‘’Naturally, this means that escape attempts or violent attacks against myself or my husband will be met with a particularly gruesome punishment.’’ He then handed a slice to Suzanna. She only shot him a frightened look. ‘’I believe the words you are looking for are ‘thank you’.’’ He whispered, giving her a painfully unsubtle cue.

‘’’Th…Thank y-you.’’ She stammered.

‘’The pleasure is all mine, Suzanna.’’ He replied. ‘’…Where was I…’’ He began as he sliced yet more pieces. ‘’Ah, I forgot to mention that living here would not be at all comfortable.’’ He handed Frank his cake. ‘’You may think of Frank here as an example of that, but I would not consider him even a fraction of an example. Mick and I are going to do so much more. Please, take the time to appreciate every aspect of your bodies, as tomorrow, they might just vanish with the help of a blade.’’ He held up the knife for emphasis. He felt like a performer on stage, with all eyes on him. He so loved the attention. It made him feel so _important._ ‘’You may have noticed your facilities, or even used them at this stage. I must remind you that those can be removed as well, especially if you misuse them.’’ He thought for a moment. He was out of rules. ‘’Would you like to add anything, dear?’’

The Australian cleared his throat. ‘’No protestin’. If we tell you lot to do somethin’, ya do it without bitchin’ and moanin’.’’

Wren brought the oldest of the group her cake. Unlike everyone else, she shook her head at it. ‘’Oh, Grace… don’t you want cake? This is a cause to celebrate! Don’t be such a grouch, hm?’’ He pinched her sagging, wrinkled cheeks. She had always been so combative. It would come back to bite her now.

‘’I don’t want your goddamned cake.’’ Grace snarled authoritatively.

Wren was stunned. He could not tolerate such a haughty attitude. She was behaving as if she was the one in control. ‘’And why not?’’ He asked, the impatience audible in his tone.

She spat in his face. ‘’Faggot.’’

‘’…Charming.’’ Wren wiped his cheek with his sleeve. ‘’Hm, maybe you’re irritable because you’re feeling a bit peckish, hm? You have not eaten since last night, after all. It only makes sense!’’ He picked up her food in his hand. ‘’Let me help you.’’ He forced her lips open and shoved the cake into her mouth. Due to shock, she didn’t bite down. He ripped his hands out, uncaring of the saliva and crumbs on his fingers. ‘’Eat.’’ He growled, keeping his hands on her throat as a warning. He watched the old woman chew and chew. She was stalling. ‘’Swallow.’’

Her throat bobbed and he released his hold. He felt something brush against his hand. He looked over to see Mick next to him, offering him the knife. ‘’Here, darlin’.’’ He handed it to him.

‘’Ooh, thank you, Mick.’’ He grinned at her and plunged it into her leg at full force. When it pierced the flesh, he twisted the blade, deepening the gash. He loved how she screamed and begged for him to stop. He felt like a merciful god, so he pulled the knife out.

‘’Ya should be more careful. That shit is what got ya here in the first place.’’ Mick scolded. ‘’Say you’re fuckin’ sorry.’’

‘’I’m sorry!’’ She cried.

At last, Wren cut himself a slice. He felt that he had outdone himself this time. The cake was spongy, moist and overall, a delight. The subtle, coppery aftertaste did wonders for it. Once he was finished, he made his captives mute once more. He did Grace’s extra tight, to remind her of her misdeeds. It would cut lines into her mouth, which would linger for weeks on end.

Wren took Mick by the hand and he paused before leaving. ‘’I hope you all enjoyed this impromptu little celebration because tomorrow is when the fun really begins.’’

**~***~**

Wren was just getting ready for bed as if nothing had happened at all.

Mick watched him strip down for a minute and allowed his thoughts to bundle together into something coherent. He replayed the memory in his mind, double checking that it had even been real because ever since, his heart had been thumping as if he had awoken from a good dream. But it hadn’t been a dream at all. He had heard that word. It was a simple word and yet it had made his body shake and tremble with its impact. It was like he’d been smacked in the gob and he was still reeling from it.

He took in a deep breath and nuzzled against Wren. He wrapped his arms around him and kissed his neck. Mick held him close and finally found the words. ‘’Ya called me your _husband_ …’’ His voice quaked at the might of those words. He was so scared of them because they had so much power over him. But in the moment, he _liked_ it. Even now he liked it, but he was so _scared._ ‘’And I’ve been wonderin’ why…’’

‘’Ah, it was a slip of the tongue…’’ Wren purred, leaning into his touch.

‘’So… it was jus’ a mistake?’’ Somehow his heart kicked up even faster. It was thumping in his ears, with the sound punctuating every thought that raced through his head.

‘’I would not consider it a mistake. More so a fortuitous moment of realisation—‘’

Mick didn’t even let him finish. That was enough of an answer. He didn’t need all the fluffy blather. He grabbed Wren and pushed him onto the bed. He did it gently and made sure not to hurt him but did it forcefully enough to catch him off guard. He kissed him with his everything, to smother him with his love. Wren’s hands trailed down to his hips and pulled him in closer. He took it all with an equal amount of passion. Mick went at him like an animal and he got that treatment in return until they both ran out of steam.

Wren caressed his cheek. ‘’Perhaps it is wrong of me to consider you as my husband, but I am of the belief that we might already be wed.’’ He breathed. His eyes glittered with a raw sort of fondness. ‘’We have done unspeakably intimate and terrible things together in the name of our love and we share something so beautiful that I can’t bear the thought of leaving you.’’ His rambles were sweet and spontaneous, and it was driving Mick crazy. ‘’You are the only man in the world who understands me, Mick. You alone love me for the terrible, evil creature that I am and mmh—‘’

He shut Wren up with another enduring kiss. He couldn’t bear a word of all this mushy nonsense, but not because he hated it, rather, he adored it. It was part of the reason he was so madly in love with the bloke. He could talk him into a frenzied state of want and need. If he heard any more, he might just implode.

He parted slowly and kissed Wren on the cheek. ‘’Someone’s in a bloody good mood, hm?’’ He whispered the words in his ear. ‘’How ‘bout I help ya make it better?’’

‘’Please.’’ Wren muttered. And with that, intimacy and gentleness was shattered. Desperation set in and within moments, the older man was undressing him. He made quick work of it and practically tore everything off. Every move was drenched in desire, as if Wren had been longing for this.

Once he was stripped bare, he pushed Wren backward. It took him by surprise, and Wren tumbled onto his back. He didn’t fight back when Mick pounced and roughly landed on top of him. He snatched the control from Wren, taking it as his own. His boyfriend accepted his new role and splayed his legs out wide. It was a practiced motion, done smoothly and effortlessly. Unlike Mick, he knew exactly what he was doing. Mick grabbed the lube from nearby and put it on his hand. He remembered what to do, at least to a degree. He reeled back just enough so that he could see what he was doing. He didn’t hesitate and plunged two fingers into the older man’s entrance.

Wren let out a gasp in a mix of surprise and pleasure. ‘’Ah! I did not think you had it in you to be so rough with me…’’ He groaned as his fingers went in deeper. ‘’Mm, I think that I like it… It might just suit you, actually—’’

‘’—Are ya sayin’ that ‘cause ya reckon I’m some uncivilised hooligan?’’ He curled his fingers curiously and loved the noises Wren made. 

‘’You are rather… _untamed…_ but even I can admit that has an undeniable appeal...’’ He sighed as his fingers went all the way in. He imitated a thrusting motion and accidentally struck something because the German keened loudly. ‘’Oh, please… Don’t keep me waiting any longer!’’ He cried, his face flushed and voice high with want.

‘’Ya want me to fuck ya?’’ He did it again for good measure and felt the tight muscle twitching and squeezing around his fingers.

‘’Yes!’’ Wren begged. ‘’I will go mad if you keep teasing me!’’

Mick found the longing and desperation in his voice to be delicious. He liked being in charge for once, even if it was only for a brief and infinitely pleasurable couple of minutes. He prepared himself and did his best to line himself up. He rammed into Wren but missed terribly. The head of his cock slid over his entrance. He tried again and this time succeeded in his efforts. His manhood dipped inside, and he pushed it in hastily. Wren pulled Mick to be on top of him as he did so, locking them together in a tight embrace. He didn’t bother starting slow. A bloke like Wren could take a thrashing without batting an eye. Mick started fast and hard, ramming into him without pause. He bucked wildly and relentlessly and practically fucked the man into the mattress. Each powerful thrust rocked the older man back and he could tell that Wren loved it. His face was reddening with arousal, his cock was stiff, and his breath became shallow and rapid. Soft whines became loud, demanding moans for more.

‘’Harder…’’ Wren moaned breathlessly.

Mick had been hoping for that. He began to pound the other man and the sound of flesh on flesh filled the air and accompanied Wren’s breathy moans. Mick hadn’t expected him to feel so warm, inviting and snug. Nor did he think that he would want to be so violent with his movements. Even so, there was something so satisfying about seeing his partner being turned into an incoherent, babbling mess before his eyes. Wren grew louder and louder, with his mewls and whines becoming rich with passion and raw lust. He figured he had to be doing something right to get the bloke so worked up.

Wren mewled and keened like an animal in heat. He lost his characteristic prissiness, and it was replaced with depravity. The older man’s legs wrapped around his body and pulled him in even closer. Mick bucked into Wren with everything he had, and he felt his body growing warmer and warmer. He lifted Wren’s legs higher and spread them even further to reach the deepest, most sensitive parts of him. He could feel nails clawing his back as he forced himself in and out of Wren. When he dug in deep, the German would practically scream with pleasure. His pupils were blown, his lips parted, hair ruffled, and his screams were shameless. He wondered if Wren would climax before him. As even with his experience, it looked like he could come undone at any second.

Wren’s eyes turned watery as his climax neared. His voice broke and his animalistic cries became strings of never-ending pleas. Tears spilled from his eyes and his pleas turned into frantic screams of romantic, mushy nonsense. He was screaming about how he wanted to be wed, have him forever and to be his forever. Though Wren was sounding and looking like an utter madman, with bared teeth, tears streaming from the eyes and reddened cheeks, it was oddly beautiful to hear him so… _emotional_. He didn’t get this excited or passionate about anything and to see him practically foaming at the mouth at the concept of getting married to him warmed his heart.

Wren hit his peak and he could feel the tight muscle around his cock twitching madly as he came. He felt hot cum painting his belly and chest as he thrusted into the bloke with everything he had. Mick was close, so close. That insane ramble had somehow brought him even closer to the edge. He could feel the end approaching, with a frenzy setting in. He needed to do more and so he used the last of his stamina to hasten his pace. He lost all rhythm and just fucked his lover as quickly as possible to get off faster. Wren seemed to be spent, as he’d simply slumped against the bed and was now watching him slam into him with a passive curiosity.

‘’I love you so much.’’ Wren sighed, exhausted.

He didn’t realise he was huffing so much until he heard his own voice. ‘’I love ya too.’’ He spoke quickly, trying to focus on releasing more than anything else. A jolt ran through him, warning him that it would only be a few more thrusts until he would finally cum. With each roll of the hips, he felt his orgasm coming nearer and nearer before it crashed over him. Low, rumbling grunts and growls escaped his throat as warmth, desire and overwhelming euphoria crushed all thought and he found himself madly bucking into Wren long after he had spilled his seed. He rode out every ounce of pleasure until it all faded away into a soothing, calming emptiness.

Weariness replaced it. He pulled out and he collapsed onto Wren. He buried his face in his chest and he felt hands lovingly massaging his scalp. ‘’So… ya really want to make this permanent?’’ He felt his heart kick up again, just from those words.

‘’I would like to, yes.’’ He replied. ‘’But… dreaming can come later. We have a very exciting day tomorrow and the sooner we go to sleep, the better.’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I'm going back to school in less than a week, which is a bit of a bummer. It'll be my final year there and thank god for that. But that means updates for all my works are going to slow down. I just thought I'd let you guys know ❤


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they play an innocent little game of spin the bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So something funny (not really funny but you know odd coincidence) happened.
> 
> On the last day of my holidays someone tested positive for covid in the city I live (Western Australia is really isolated so yeah) and we've gone into a temporary lockdown, therefore I don't have to go to school until next week if all goes well virus wise. And so, I had the time to write another chapter! Hopefully I'll be able to write some more :) 
> 
> Silver linings, I guess.

Mick got all sorts of dirty looks when he brought their prisoners the scraps from breakfast. At first, he wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about. He got the hairy eyeball from this lot pretty often, but for whatever reason, their glares had gotten even hairier. It made him wonder if there was something on his face, or if he’d done something stupid, and he even double checked that he’d dressed himself. But as far as he could tell, everything was fine.

He scraped a ‘’serving’’ to everyone except Suzanna. After the messy incident with the shila, they had lost the privilege to eat with plates. It was fascinating in a way, to watch a bunch of once civilised folk eat like cavemen, or better yet, like feral dogs. Despite being second-hand food, they wolfed it down as if it was an expensive, lavish, and delicious meal.

Wren had enacted a starvation policy of sorts, where the trio would be fed nothing more than scraps unless he said otherwise. Even then, there was very little to go around to the point where he was practically giving them nothing at all. Mick had asked what the point was. Wren had said it was more the _idea_ of food that he was giving them. It seemed like a waste of time to Mick. These scraps would be better spent on his girls. His chooks would truly appreciate the leftovers instead of scowling at them.

As they ate, he could hear Wren’s heavy boots thumping up the staircase. The familiar creak of the door followed, and a fresh gush of air graced his lungs. Wren brushed past him with a fleeting touch on the arm. The bloke had a cheeky smile on his face and a spring in his step. Mick couldn’t help but notice how the trio stared at Wren in the same way, if not with even more disgust. The German noticed as well and turned to Mick. ‘’You were not oversharing, I hope.’’ He winked at him.

Then it clicked. ‘’Nah, darlin’. It’s old news at this stage.’’ He replied. ‘’They knew even b’fore I walked in here.’’ Mick met the eyes of the oldest one of the group and smiled sheepishly. ‘’Ya did all the sharin’ last night, luv’.’’

‘’Apparently so!’’ Wren chimed in enthusiastically as he placed his bundle of tools on the table. ‘’I would apologise for all of the noise last night, but it would be incredibly disingenuous, seeing as I lack the ability to feel remorse!’’ He laughed heartily at himself and no-one joined him except for Mick. ‘’In actuality, I am not at all sorry and I promise you that I intend to interrupt your peaceful dreams with far more than just particularly passionate sex.’’ All this laughter and levity suited him. He looked younger with a smile on his face.

He put them all of his equipment in a line as he talked, like soldiers ready to be deployed. Mick recognised them as surgical tools. The small army included scalpels, bone saws, clamps, and scissors. His personal blade sat among them. They were all sharpened, sterilised, and ready for use. He noticed an empty beer bottle beside them, which stuck out like a sore thumb. It made him wonder what he had planned.

‘’What’re you doin’, Wren?’’ He asked, puzzled.

‘’You will see in just a moment, my love!’’ He tempted him with a coy grin and a playful tone. He knew that he had something absolutely vile planned. His giddiness gave it away. Wren pulled out a pair of vibrant red gloves from a box and put them on with a resounding snap. They were long gloves that nearly went up to his elbows. Though they were eccentric, Mick would be lying if he said he didn’t like them.

‘’Knowin’ you, it’ll be a spectacle, won’t it?’’ Mick found that giddiness to be contagious.

‘’Oh, yes…’’ Wren purred excitedly before clearing his throat and raising his voice to address his guests. ‘’I hope you all enjoyed your breakfast… Or rather, the _remains_ of breakfast.’’ Wren was so in his element that Mick’s attention couldn’t go anywhere else but him. He was like a host at a lavish party making an announcement. He had confidence, charisma and a bubbly voice that caught everyone’s ears.

He was just _gorgeous_.

‘’You have likely noticed the vast and impressive array of equipment I have here.’’ He gestured to the line of tools on the table. ‘’Obviously, I will be using them and perhaps that fact is rather frightening, especially considering what Mick and I have already done. But there is no need to worry! Only _one_ of you will be having an… impromptu amputation done today.’’ He picked up the bone saw and gestured to the serrated edge.

The moment Wren said ‘amputation’, a thought dropped into the forefront of his mind like a feather gliding down from the heavens. He gently tapped Wren on the shoulder and leant in to whisper in his ear. ‘’If you’re gonna cut somethin’ off, go for a leg ‘cause It’s got the most meat on it.’’ He figured if they were going to start cutting limbs off, they may as well get the juiciest bits.

‘’Ooh, that’s a good idea!’’ Wren replied , maintaining his grandiosity and volume. Wren resumed effortlessly, as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all. ‘’We are going to play a little game to decide who will be the one losing a precious limb.’’ A gloved finger traced along the edge of the blade, testing its sharpness. ‘’And what a better way to remember the good times than a cute little game of spin the bottle? If I recall correctly, it was a classic in your disgustingly boring work parties, was it not, Frank?’’

The bloke nodded frantically, petrified.

‘’Seeing as Grace never attended the parties in favour of seeing her pig of a husband, I will take a moment to explain the rules.’’ He was grinning from ear to ear. Mick could tell that he was loving every second of this. ‘’It’s incredibly simple. I will place this bottle on the floor and spin it so that the neck will point to one of you when it stops. Naturally, that person will receive the grand prize of a free amputation!’’ Wren cackled like a madman. The sound boomed in the cramped attic and the air grew tense with a blend of excitement and fear.

‘’W…What if the bottle points to one of you two?’’ Suzanna asked, voice quivering.

‘’Nothing at all. I will merely spin it again. I never said that this would be a fair game.’’ He crooned, revelling in the way her face fell. ‘’Oh… that’s _rich_. You seriously thought that I would even think of hurting my beloved!’’ His confidence was feasting on the immense discomfort in the room. ‘’And you would never hurt me, would you, schatz?’’ Wren looked to him, already knowing the answer.

‘’No, never.’’ He blurted his answer without even thinking about it. ‘’Silly question, really.’’ He mumbled under his breath.

Wren’s eyes darted down to the vast collection of tools before him and giggled joyfully. ‘’This is going to be so much fun!’’ He was practically bouncing up and down at the thought of using his saws and knives. It was nice to see Wren in such a good mood. He’d been nothing but smiles all morning, but now, he was _glowing_ with happiness. Wren looked so different. There was vibrancy in his eyes, genuineness to his smile and he carried a contagious laugh. He was expressive, dramatic and excitable, as if he was truly _alive._

Mick knew that Wren wasn’t pretending anymore. This was him. This beautiful, sadistic, shameless, spritely, and joyous creature was what Wren always had been, deep inside. It had only needed his help to get out. Wren had escaped his sensible and cold guise. The bird from his dreams had flown free into reality.

**~***~**

Wren placed the bottle in the centre of the room, ensuring that every one of his prisoners would be able to see it as chance decided upon their fates. He touched the cold glass and spun it with force, turning the brown bottle into a blurred, swirling whirlpool. It was hypnotising to watch the hands of luck acting upon such a mundane object and modifying it into a decider of fate.

Mesmerised, terrified eyes from all around the room watched the bottle spin in seemingly endless circles. He was anticipating the results as much as they were, but not for the same reasons. While they were torturing themselves with the idea of potentially losing a valuable extremity, he was simply curious to know who he would be cutting open with a saw. Even the image of destroying intricate structures with cruel steel was enough to send a concentrated flood of energy through his system like crackling electricity. He was so full of life, love, and vigour that it felt as if his body could combust and burn from the inside out. Smiling genuinely had never been this easy in his entire life. He knew it to be a villainous smile, one that spoke of vileness and malintent, but he was not ashamed of it, as it also portrayed the unfaltering joy he felt. Somehow, it felt far better than the one he had practiced and perfected for decades. It made him feel like himself, rather than the shell of a perfect man that never existed in the first place.

The bottle was slowing. Instead of a formless blur, it was recognisable once more. The tension in the air was becoming denser and thicker with each passing second. On every inhale, he could feel the anxiety bouncing around in his lungs. To consume such fear filled him with mirth and an intoxicating glee. He had been fantasising about this all night and at last, he could make it a reality. The delight that enriched his mind with a pleasant, ebullient happiness was just as palpable as it had been in his dreams, if not even more so.

The bottle finally crept to a stop. The neck pointed directly to Suzanna and in that moment, the universe’s gavel had slammed down, sentencing her to his personalised punishment. She let out a gasp and covered her mouth. Her eyes widened and she instinctually scurried backward like a cornered mouse to hide from him. She was begging, pleading for him not to do it but his mind had been set in unbreakable stone long ago. He couldn’t help but laugh at the childish display of cowardice. Wren picked up his bone saw and raised it, showing it off as he approached. He towered above her and he licked his lips, unable to contain his excitement.

He crouched down to her level and grabbed her thigh by force. He extended her leg all the way out and ignored her quivering, pleading voice. She had such petite, elegant little legs which attempted to kick and struggle in his grasp. He couldn’t help but touch them with curiosity, which only made Suzanna squirm more. They were smooth, soft, and shapely, like temptation incarnate. If he wasn’t absolutely enamoured with the male form, he would have lost himself in that vile temptation. Instead of drooling over such a sight, he wanted nothing more than to saw them off and replace them with ugly little stumps. He placed the teeth of his saw to her thigh, teasing the idea of cutting into the plump flesh.

‘’Wren, please!’’ She was struggling in his grip and futilely trying to fight against him when her fate had already been decided for her. ‘’Please, you don’t have to do this!’’ Her face was a deathly pale, as if fear had stolen all the colour from her skin. Her movements were frantic, like a butterfly ensnared in a net. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t fly away from him.

‘’You’re right. I don’t have to do this.’’ He softened his voice and raised the saw so that its jagged teeth would no longer bite into her skin. It was so easy to pretend that her desperate and pitiful words had affected him. She let out a sigh of premature relief. That relief restored itself into utter terror when he clarified his meaning. ‘’But you see, Suzanna, I _want_ to do this.’’ He forced the serrated edge on her fragile flesh and dug it in, making sure it would make a shallow cut. ‘’In fact, I love a good amputation and perhaps you will grow to enjoy them just as much as I do!’’ He shifted the blade forward, allowing it to nibble at her skin. She writhed and kicked at him, which made his straight incision into a crooked line. ‘’Mick, hold her still, please.’’ He commanded, gripping the woman’s calf as tightly as possible.

The bushman strode over and took his role. He shot the girl a glare and forced her leg to remain perfectly still. She squealed and begged for him to stop. The pathetic noises only made him laugh.

‘’Go on, luv’.’’ Mick encouraged him with a nod. ‘’I don’t want to be holdin’ a shila’s leg longer than I have to.’’

Without any further ado, Wren slashed the girl’s thigh. He sawed into her flesh in a back-and-forth motion and felt the blade digging deeper with every movement. The skin was ripped like paper and the muscle and fat underneath was like cardboard at the touch of his saw. She was screaming like a banshee and fighting against Mick’s steadfast hold like an animal. Tears were streaming down her face and her voice rose became louder and louder with the rapidly intensifying pain.

Wren was simply hypnotised by the abundant floods of blood that flowed out from the deepening gash. The colour was so vibrant, even in the dim lighting. The feeling of such complex tissue surrendering to the unforgiving bite of his saw was rapidly becoming an addiction. Her body had been systematically creating and perfecting all of this flesh in a never-ending cycle and he had the privilege of destroying it all for good.

His twisted urges were feasting upon the bloodshed and cruelty like a ravenous wolf. It was intoxicating to finally perform a live amputation. It had been far too long and hearing such pained sounds brought back the most delightful memories. All the excitement made his hands shake with an irresistible want to do more. He wanted to sever her fingers, pull her teeth, cut out her tongue, and rip out her heart with his bare hands. He would do anything to sustain the high that fuelled his smile and inspired his laughter.

However, this was a game. All games had rules and if cheated, they became terribly _dull_.

His powerful tool had broken the skin and was well and truly cutting through the fat. It was like soft butter as he sliced it. Blood was oozing out of the wound and spilling out onto the floor. He reached the muscle and that was just a little tougher. It was akin to rubber. It was tough, but with enough force, snapped. Her wails had turned into ones of agony and distress. It was like listening to a wounded animal scream. His instinct was to put her down, but his instincts were foolish. That would be too kind. She would endure every moment. She would endure this suffering and the lingering pain that would come thereafter.

He struck bone, indicating the halfway point. Despite that fact, Suzanna looked as if she was going to faint. She was watching him destroy an infinitely useful part of her body with horror and hollering all the while. It was akin to a symphony now, as her companions had joined her. Normally, he would find the sounds infuriating, but here, they were on the same level as a standing ovation. Such sights and sounds brought him tremendous satisfaction. Laughter bubbled in his throat, threatening to come out if allowed to simmer any longer. He knew this ecstasy to be a by-product of pure sadism. The malicious pleasure brought upon by hurting his fellow men was bound to him, it clung to his heart and refused to let go. it joined his bloodstream as a regular, uninvited visitor. It corrupted his very blood and was pumped around his body. It flowed through him effortlessly and he could not ignore its demands. It wanted pain, bloodshed, and suffering.

It seemed that he was overachieving in that regard.

By now, the pus and blood were overflowing, and it made his gloves an even more vibrant shade of red. He cut through sinew and bone, which took far more effort than everything else. The woman was screaming wildly. It sounded inhuman with how strained and violent it was in sound. A scratching, rough sound accompanied it as the saw tore through every layer of bone. Once pierced, all that remained was comparatively soft tissue. He could feel her leg coming loose. If she were to stand, she would fail miserably, and just maybe, the skin would tear and rip on its own without anything to support it.

He quite liked that image but he was far too focused on finally severing the limb to make it a reality.

Wren was grinning as the final tendons, nerves and blood vessels were ripped and broken by sharpened metal. He felt so alive that he was aware of every breath he took, every blink and every subtle movement of his hands as he worked. He finally reached the bottom of the thigh and felt the clinging skin give way as his saw chewed it up and tore it into shreds. He was laughing now, cackling with the rippling high that raced through his system. He looked to the bleeding stump he had left behind and felt a sense of utter accomplishment crush any rational thought. He bent down and kissed the raw, bloodied stump. He knew it stung and so he bit it and dug his teeth in.

Wren wiped his mouth and raised the now dismembered leg as if it was a trophy. He showed Suzanna his work with a proud smile. ‘’You always said you had good luck, Suzanna.’’ He cooed softly and caressed her cheek. She sobbed harder the moment he touched her. ‘’And it seems that lady luck smiled upon you today.’’

**~***~**

Mick carried their prize down to the kitchen.

He tossed it onto a cutting board and hastily grabbed his butchering tools. It was still bleeding and before long, the board would be soaked with it. Wren had said that he wanted it to be as fresh as possible. He scoffed at that. It was fresh enough to still be moving. Still, Wren had taken the nasty job of making sure she didn’t die of blood loss, so it was only fair that he had to do the butchering.

He began to cut up the leg into slabs of meat, ready to be cooked. When muscle memory took the reins, his mind began to wander, as if taking a stroll from topic to topic. As he did so, his cuts grew faster and rougher. He was quickly realising that he was _angry._ It felt so silly because he was cross with a dead lump of flesh. No… He was pissed off with its former owner. He didn’t like the way Wren had been touching that shila. He knew that it wasn’t at all sexual, but it still made him furious to see the bloke touch her face, stroke up her legs and _kiss_ her bleeding thigh. He was aware that not even the girl had liked it when he touched her, but even still, the image of Wren’s pretty hands touching another in that almost loving manner disturbed him to his core. He scowled at the memory of him dipping down low to kiss her stump. It was so simple and yet it boiled his blood. It felt wrong to watch. He hated looking at it. In a strange way, he had felt relief when the older man had started cutting her up simply because it wasn’t an intimate or gentle act. In fact, it was the opposite. It was cruel, nasty and vicious. It had been a guilty pleasure to watch her blood soak the floors and to listen to her scream.

He wasn’t angry at Wren. He couldn’t be. Not after last time. He felt that he _should_ be pissed with him because it wasn’t the shila’s fault he grabbed her like that, but his mind told him over and over again that it was her fault, not Wren’s. His mind was biased, and he knew that for sure. It desperately didn’t want to be alone even if it meant biting his tongue and redirecting his anger onto a chick that didn’t really deserve it. A part of him knew that all of the rage that was inside of him was pointed to Wren, except that his twisted mind was deliberately bending it around the man and forcing it to slam into the next unfortunate sod.

He scowled at himself. No, she deserved it. She had denounced the most important thing in his life and therefore she was not at all innocent. None of them were innocent. They all deserved to be punished. She deserved his fury. All of it. It was right. It was fair. It was necessary. It would protect them.

That was what Wren had said. He was right. He was always right.

But was he?

Why did it matter if he was? Wren was so _happy._

So what if he touched her cheek? He was going to kill her anyway.

Why should he care if it was right or not? It wasn’t like that bothered him before.

Wren didn’t like her.

Wren hated her.

Wren loved him.

He promised he’d love him forever.

That was all that mattered.

But he was still so _angry_.

It was perfectly reasonable to raise concerns, wasn’t it?

But was it worth being alone? No. Not at all.

Mick kept cutting it until all that remained was the bone. It was reddened by blood and lumpy with stubborn skin that clung to it. That and the tough bits could go to his girls for their supper. He admired his work for a second, curious as to how much meat he had gotten out of just one leg. Surprisingly, it was more than enough for dinner.

As he was packaging it up, Wren came down from the attic. As he approached, he pulled his dirtied gloves off and discarded them in the bin with a careless toss.

‘’I’m guessin’ that she’s not gonna keel over and die now?’’ Mick asked.

Wren nodded. ‘’She will not die of blood loss, at the least.’’ He said with a smile. ‘’However, anything else could kill her. I don’t believe that the attic is the most sanitary of places, which could cause an infection…’’ He paused on that word. ‘’Hm… Sepsis is a horrible way to die, is it not?’’ His smile grew wider.

‘’What?’’ He only had a vague idea of what the bloke was on about. From his bubbly, peppy voice it seemed like he _wanted_ the shila to get sick with something or rather.

‘’It just occurred to me that we could help an infection take hold.’’ Wren said cheerfully as he nicked a slither of meat from the pile and shoved it in his mouth without any regard for appearances. He made a pleased sound when he tasted it.

‘’How? Do we like… rub her thigh in dirt?’’ Mick had no idea how they would go about this.

Wren’s adams apple bobbed when he swallowed down the piece. ‘’We could do that,’’ Wren’s hands locked with his and his thumb stroked his knuckles. ‘’However, there is a far better method…’’ He whispered, leaning in to kiss him.

It was distracting to be so close to him. His body was just itching to close the distance and pamper the bloke. ‘’And that is?’’ He mumbled as his eyes explored and admired the faded scar that ran down Wren’s face.

‘’It’s a rather direct method but it yields far better results than what you suggested.’’ His eyes seemed to light up at the prospect. Even his dead eye looked alive.

‘’Quit teasin’ me.’’ He inched closer, allowing each word to touch the older man’s face.

He giggled coyly. ‘’It would be as simple as growing bacteria.’’ He mumbled, finally revealing his plan. Mick couldn’t help but notice how his pupils dilated. ‘’And then injecting said bacteria once it had festered into a disgusting concoction of filth. With something so vile, an infection would almost be a certainty.’’ He chuckled darkly and a light blush bloomed on his face. ‘’Without proper treatment it would develop into sepsis and so on until the body simply gave in…’’ Wren’s voice twisted and curled with a demented lust.

‘’It’d hurt, like hell, don’t ya reckon, darlin?’’’ He was quickly learning just how easy it was to work Wren up when he like this.

‘’It would be simply unfathomable…’’ He delighted in the way the doctor’s lips parted to let him in. He thought to tempt him for a while longer.

‘’But it would spoil the meat, wouldn’t it?’’ Mick whispered, hoping to change his mind.

‘’Only a little!’’ He whined. He could feel Wren’s hands around his neck, holding him close.

‘’You’re tellin’ porkies, Wren.’’ His voice turned into a growl. ‘’I’m not stupid. Somethin’ that makes ya that fuckin’ sick will destroy the guts, and hell, prolly’ the good bits too.’’

‘’Aha… you caught me.’’ He chuckled airily. ‘’I promise you, my dear, there will be plenty for us to eat, even without her.’’ Wren pecked him again and again, attempting to initiate a kiss. Mick didn’t reciprocate, at least, not just yet.

‘’It’s not like we’re gonna _enjoy_ that old saggy bitch.’’ Mick snarled. ‘’That bloke is fine, but he’s gettin’ on a bit. He’d be tough and horrible.’’ He bit the other man’s lip. It wasn’t hard enough to rip the plump skin, but enough to show that he was serious.

It was interpreted differently. ‘’Oh… I see what this is about.’’ Wren nuzzled against his neck and kissed the faded bite scar there. ‘’You want to be the one to kill her.’’ He chuckled. Mick tensed up for a second. He hadn’t expected the bloke to catch on. ‘’You don’t like the idea of an illness doing it for you.’’ Wren taunted. ‘’You want it to be personal. You want to be the sole cause of her demise… and it makes me wonder why you would pretend to be so… _obsessed_ with the potential harvest we could get from her to hide the fact.’’

‘’I can’t trick ya, can I?’’ He smiled. He felt silly for even trying.

‘’You could have fooled me if you were less aggressive.’’ Wren gestured to his lip, which had gone a touch red around the edges. ‘’It struck me as unusual. You’re normally rather… _gentle_ with me.’’ The older man grinned, clearly proud of himself. ‘’There was no need to deceive me. You could have just told me that you wanted to satisfy your urges.’’ Wren leaned in and pressed his forehead against his. ‘’But I must wonder why you want to kill the girl in particular?’’ He chuckled maliciously. ‘’Hasn’t she suffered enough?’’ His voice transformed to be falsely sympathetic, as if he pitied her.

He took in a deep breath and admitted it. ‘’I don’t like how ya were touchin’ her… strokin’ her legs, touchin’ her face and all that shit.’’ He swallowed drily. ‘’And now I wanna kill her because I—’’

‘’—Mick,’’ He sighed. ‘’You should not be jealous. You know that I only ever make contact with our captives to torment them…’’ He felt Wren’s hands dip lower. They slid down his back with ease and crept to his hips. ‘’Contrarily, I touch you to make you feel special and to let you know that I care about you.’’ He said it as if it was obvious. ‘’I’m afraid there is an unmistakable difference.’’ His clever hands worked up and down his hips, stroking them with the utmost care. ‘’Feels good, yes?’’

‘’Yeah.’’ He mumbled softly, feeling his face reddening with warmth.

‘’You have nothing to worry about.’’ His hands moved upward and stroked all the way up the length of his back. ‘’You are the one person I care about and the only man I need.’’ He said gently, with his voice becoming disgustingly sweet. ‘’I only have enough room in my cold, dead heart for you.’’ Wren dragged Mick’s hands to his neck. ‘’It beats for you, Mick.’’ He whispered. It was almost surreal to feel the steady thump of the older man’s heart against his fingers. It pulsed against his skin, over and over again in a never-ending rhythm.

‘’You’re a bloody fruitcake.’’ Despite his words, that overly sappy gesture had practically stupefied him. His own heart was just about pounding, and his breaths turned shallower.

As Wren closed the gap for a kiss, he felt the heart at his fingers beat faster.

He was gently pushed against the wall and he felt Wren’s body pressing against his own. He was smothered with attention, kisses, and love. Their embrace was not lustful, hasty, or desperate. It was slow, intimate, and soft. Each and every brush of the lips lingered, and he savoured the taste of the man he loved. His usual hints of wine, strawberries and tea had been overpowered by the taste of blood and flesh. He often wondered what flavours he carried if any at all. Wren’s hands were in his hair, ruffling it affectionately. Mick’s own were on the older man’s hips, holding him close.

He pulled away slowly, ensuring the last touch of the lips would remain in his memory for just a moment longer than it needed to. ‘’Not upset anymore, are we?’’ Wren said softly.

‘’Only a little…’’ Mick replied, hoping to get more attention from Wren.

He got it instantly. Wren kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his lips and along his jaw over and over again in a repetitive, yet lulling pattern. He felt as if he was sinking through the world itself and into a void where only comfort and happiness existed. Before long, the bloke was attached to him like a leech. It seemed like his mouth wouldn’t leave his skin. Mick had no desire to pull him off because it made him feel warm, safe, and loved.

**~***~**

It had been different to cook with Mick.

Wren had enjoyed it for the most part, but he had felt more like a sous chef rather than an equal partner. He had been forced to make the mashed potato, the roast vegetables, and the sauces. Mick did the more important work and focused on the meat in particular. It was fair, seeing as he was the professional in that area. Though he was a little bossy and more authoritative in the kitchen, Wren didn’t mind because he knew that the end product would be simply fantastic.

And once it was all served, his mouth was watering.

Five plates were filled to the brim with food. Three of which were plastic. Even their captives would be feasting tonight to maintain the good spirits from their game. It was maddening to inhale the delightful scents. The temptation to dig in without his guests was near irresistible. However, he knew how important this first meal together was and thus he remained steadfast.

He and Mick carried their food upstairs. At the sight and smell of food, the trio came to life. They timidly scuttled forward as far as their restraints would let them and pleaded with their eyes like hungry dogs. Wren took a moment to savour the sight before handing out the plates.

He announced the occasion to them, hoping to inspire some trust. He could see Grace giving him a sceptical look. ‘’I wanted to spoil you all with a proper feast after you were such good sports during our little game today.’’ He smiled at the young woman. ‘’Especially you, Suzanna.’’ His eyes dipped lower, to her absent leg. ‘’And so, we thought to cook you a classic.’’ He looked to Mick as a cue for him to say something.

‘’Traditional roast veggies and pork for a special treat.’’ He added.

Mick placed his own and Wren’s plates on the ground far away from the group so that they would not be able to steal anything. Wren took it upon himself to hand their guests their dinner personally. He smiled to each one and offered a nod of acknowledgement. Once everyone was served, he sat beside Mick.

He raised his glass for a toast. He swirled the wine inside with a smile. ‘’Cheers to our very lucky winner, Suzanna.’’ He looked to her and with shaking hands, she mocked the gesture of raising a glass.

Wren started first by cutting into the beautifully cooked meat on his plate. The others started soon after and he couldn’t help but grin as he watched them eat. Frank gobbled it down hastily, even with a missing tongue. One would think he was dying of starvation with how feverishly he ate. Suzanna was more akin to a cavewoman than a civilised young lady as she had forgone cutlery altogether. He couldn’t help but chuckle. He sipped at his wine to stifle the sound. Mick turned to smile at him. It was a cocky smile, filled with good humour. He was enjoying this just as much as he was. The old woman had not started and he reminded her to be polite with a glance. She ignored him.

Naturally, he had to speak up. ‘’Is something wrong, Grace?’’ He asked, looking down to her stocked plate.

‘’I know this is a trick.’’ She grumbled. ‘’You poisoned it.’’

To disprove her point, he pointed to his meal, which he had made a good start on. ‘’I suppose I am willingly consuming poison then!’’ He scoffed as he put a decent chunk of roast carrot in his mouth. The room fell silent once more as suspicion vanished. He had no idea it would be so easy to convince the old bag to start on her food. He supposed she was hungry.

Mick offered a slice of meat to him. ‘’This bit’s perfect, darlin’.’’

‘’Is it, now? Well… I suppose I will have to try it.’’ He opened his mouth and allowed Mick to place it on his tongue. It was somehow even better than the rest. It was sheer indulgence in his mouth, and he found himself wanting more of that tiny cut of heaven. ‘’Mhm… you are so talented. What did I do to deserve you, Mick?’’

‘’I don’t know, luv’.’’ He leaned in and whispered in his ear. ‘’Ya killed a bunch of folks, I s’pose.’’

He giggled coyly. ‘’That I did.’’

The famished men and women finished first. He and Mick took their time. He stacked their plates and grinned to his diners. ‘’So, my lovely guests, how was your supper?’’

Frank nodded quickly as if to say it was good.

Wren looked expectantly to Grace. She swallowed her pride. ‘’It was nice.’’ She hissed under her breath.

‘’It was v-very nice, t-thank you, Wren.’’ Suzanna stammered.

‘’Please, don’t thank me. You did all of the hard work, Suzanna.’’ He taunted with a smile.

‘’Wh…What do you m-mean?’’

He chuckled to himself. He had been waiting for this moment. ‘’I must admit that I have not been completely honest with you all.’’ He began, tugging at his collar and pretending to be nervous. ‘’The protein for tonight was in actuality, not pork at all, but rather, a very clean and delicious cut from our dear friend Suzanna.’’ His eyes wandered down to her missing leg. ‘’Her leg, to be precise.’’

Wren gleefully absorbed the reactions of the people around him. Grace turned as white as a sheet, Frank’s hands went to his mouth and Suzanna froze up. Her face turned a sickly shade of green and in an instant, she scrambled to the bucket in her corner. That simple move became a trend, with her companions doing the same. He could only giggle at the sight, and Mick joined him. His cackles were low, deep and gravelly in sound. It was the sort of laughter that scratched and clawed as it emerged. But to Wren, they were sweet and sauntering, like the raspy song of a raven. 

Their laughter became a cackle as the three prisoners violently emptied their stomachs. Wren found it to be hilarious, to let them gorge themselves like pigs and then force them to revoke the pleasure of fulfilment in a moment’s notice. Now, they would be just as hungry as before, if not even more so. They would have to accept what they had done and would suffer for it for all eternity. To them, they had done something unforgivable.

But to himself and Mick, their reactions were ridiculous to the point of hysterics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mick's pent up anger won't cause any problems whatsoever, right???  
> Oh and as a side note we're finally getting some traditional insane medic!  
> It's so refreshing to write Wren to be more like himself if that makes sense :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wren unwinds with a hot bath and of course, some bloodshed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha wouldn't it be funny if school delayed this chapter for several weeks... unless?  
> Some links to fanart in end notes :) Please give them a look if you have the chance!

To Wren, nothing was quite as relaxing as a hot bath.

The soothing, steaming waters were akin to tender caresses rolling over his skin. The heated, fluid hands brushed by him and offered their warmth as they fluttered by. It enveloped his body and held him tight. It enclosed him and held him in a liquid, flowing cocoon of warmth and comfort. The current removed all impurities that clung to his skin and took them someplace else, where they would be swallowed by the void when he chose to emerge from his fluid swathe. The blanket that covered him offered him an unspeakably refreshing pause from his life, from his activities and from his responsibilities. For the moment, he was nothing more than a creature basking in the simple pleasure of bathing. He was not a god that gorged on the flesh of men and tortured the lesser creatures for his own amusement. All of his sins had been washed away the moment he stepped inside of this soothing pocket of paradise. However, such filth would return the very second he emerged. His sin would come crawling back and it would burrow inside of him like worms. They would feast upon him as a writhing mass, breed and grow until he chose to drown them with another long, placating bath.

He had been purified by these waters, cleansed, and given the illusion that he had been made whole. He could fool himself into thinking that he was a peaceful, harmless creature with ease. When he breathed in the steam laden air, he could almost believe that he was just a man without an ounce of unsavoury desire in his mind. The fog and heat had locked his filthy desires away for him, so that he could be free from its ungodly influence for just a precious minute. It had pacified him, made him calm and docile, like a baby bird with a full crop.

Perhaps it was too soon to say he had become soft, kind and gentle, as when he closed his eyes, he would see a small sea of rich, thick blood all around him. Occasionally, he could smell the potent copper and scarcely, feel it gracing his skin with its strange, yet kind love. In his mind, it was not ordinary blood. It was the wonderful combination of his three martyrs, and it would be rich with suffering, pain and unimaginable anguish. It would be the product and reward for his mercilessness, and he would pamper himself with it.

In a near hypnotised state, he found his hands wandering on his body. His movements were not at all sporadic, rather, they were deliberate and pleasing. He wouldn’t call it an examination, rather, a simple exercise in self-love. Of course, there were things to be criticised as well as adored. He stroked down the length of his chest and allowed his hands to creep lower to his belly and even lower still to his thighs. He felt along the plump flesh and stroked it. He squeezed it, just gently. He kneaded it and pampered himself with loving touches, hoping to inspire himself with yet more deliciously vile imagery.

No such inspiration came and in its stead, reality approached him. The impossibility of his fantasy unkindly tapped him on the shoulder to remind him that it would never happen. It whispered in his ear that it would take a small village of men and women to fill a tub with blood, as the human body could only hold a few litres of blood at a time. Not only that, but his captives would be short on blood by the time he was done with them. It was a daydream, and it would never be anything more.

He sighed and opened his eyes to greet his now disappointing reality in the face. The crystal-clear waters were now loathsome compared to the vibrancy his mind had created for him. He leant back and redirected his hazy mind into a more feasible place in hopes of quelling his disappointment. He would create another fantasy, the only difference being that it was a plausible one.

He instead imagined his lover with him, with his calloused hands caressing the most attractive parts of him. A simple exercise had become so much more. With every subtle press, caress and stroke, reality and the imagined blended into one. Wren’s hands dipped lower, just tracing down the length of his belly before reaching down further to the underside of his legs, where he was particularly sensitive. He liked to toy with the tingly sensations, and they were most prominent under his knees and dulled when he reached his thighs. As his hands busied themselves, he constructed a stage of sorts, with familiar objects and of course, his lover. He positioned himself in that space and pretended that he was there on display for the man he loved to touch and play with as he liked. Mick was always gentle unless a very rare and particular mood struck him. He liked to think that he could emulate the shy sensations perfectly. He went a step further and felt along the length of his cock, revelling in how it swelled to coincide with the pictures that had painted the dark landscape of his mind. When he held his manhood in his hand, it all became so vivid that he could almost feel it. With a few slow pumps the sounds flooded in and a low, gravelly voice was in his ear. He knew it to be a fallacy, but it didn’t stop him from hearing it, nor did it halt his reaction. Wren bit his lip as the tingling beginnings of a promising release bubbled from within. He pampered himself and imagined that it was his husband doing it for him. He made the touches feel curious and amateur. Even so, he did it with enough passion to spur himself on. As time passed, the titillation mounted and he threw his head back, allowing a soft, near inaudible moan to pass through his lips.

It was heaven. All of it. His body and heart alike ached with a pure, demanding love. It was the sort that begged him to bind himself to his partner and never let go. Every part of him adored the bushman. He ached for his touch, longed for the time they shared and thought of him to a near unhealthy amount. Mick was his obsession and his everything. Without him he had nothing. His life was empty without him. The mutual connection and understanding they shared was all that he needed and all that he wanted. Perhaps it had been all that he had ever wanted. And right now, he needed it. Desperately.

Wren had convinced himself that this was not like the sins that had been washed from him. This was pure. This was an element of love, even if it was considered devious. He was so needy and so wanting because he loved Mick dearly. It was not twisted. It was perfectly natural, without a single shred of corruption. It was a simple thing when he pondered it. This was adoration in a different form. It was quiet and unknowing to the one he—

The door opened and he jumped in fright, making the water violently thrash in the white walls of the bathtub. Mick paused when he saw him and offered an apologetic smile.

‘’Fuck, I didn’t realise ya were wankin’.’’ He could see the blush rising to the bushman’s cheeks. ‘’Sorry, luv’.’’ Mick scratched at his ears.

‘’I personally like to think of it as a bit of self-love.’’ He replied confidently. Betraying that confidence was the breathlessness in his voice. Unconsciously, his hand wandered over the edge of the tub, as if it were waiting for the opportunity to pull Mick into the bath.

‘’Pah, ya do enough of that already.’’ He scoffed. ‘’I mean, were the petals really necessary?’’ Mick nodded towards the pink rose petals Wren had thrown in for flair.

‘’Not exactly, but I do enjoy a bit of colour, don’t you?’’ He justified, swirling the water with his index to invite the bushman in.

‘’Yeah, yeah, sure.’’ Mick cleared his throat and moved across the room, finally making a decision. ‘’Y’know, if ya were any other bloke I’d fuck off all embarrassed roight about now, but I reckon I’ll take a piss anyway.’’

‘’I would much prefer it if you wouldn’t…’’ Wren practically begged. Mick ignored him, unzipped his fly in front of the loo and Wren looked away out of some sort of pointless respect. He scowled at how his arousal was fading by the second. Normally the sight of Mick would do nothing but encourage him, but not like this. It was not hopeless, however, as his desire could be reignited just as easily as it could be stifled. It would only take a few clever words to twist this into his favour.

‘’You’re spoiling the mood, Mick.’’ He sighed, feeling the possibilities unfurl at those words. There were so many ways he could make this a pleasurable experience.

‘’I’ll be out of your hair in jus’ a tic.’’ He heard the whirr of a zipper and Mick turned to him. He crouched by the bathtub as if to taunt him. ‘’So, how’s it goin’?’’ He placed an index in the water, as if to check the temperature.

‘’It _was_ going along just fine until you decided to urinate in front of me.’’ He huffed. ‘’Maybe you could come in to make it up to me?’’ He asked, pleading with his eyes and voice alike to create an irresistible combination. ‘’Please? If it’s any consultation, I was thinking of you…’’ He whispered.

‘’I mean, who else are ya gonna think of?’’ Mick scoffed, rolling his eyes, and refusing the bait. In Wren’s eyes, he’d even turned his nose up at it.

He thought to turn the tide and the answer came to him. ‘’Must I say it outright, dear?’’ He sighed. ‘’You know that I despise being blunt.’’ He allowed his enticing posture to slump into an exasperated sprawl.

‘’I reckon it’d be refreshin’ to hear ya say what ya mean for once.’’ Mick joked, smiling to himself.

‘’If I must…’’ Wren ignored the snide comment. ‘’Mick, dear… you are covered in dirt, dust, crumbs it appears that you have what looks to be vegemite smeared on your lips. Needless to say, you’re absolutely filthy.’’ Wren huffed. ‘’Currently, I want nothing more than to throw you in here and scrub you like some sort of dirty dog.’’ He noted how Mick took a step back. ‘’But,’’ He began, raising his index to present a second option. ‘’Alternatively, you can allow me to seduce you into proper hygiene instead of brushing me off. That way, we can do it nicely.’’

‘’What if I jus’ nick off?’’ He cocked his thumb towards the door.

Wren chuckled darkly, allowing the malice to seep into his tone. ‘’I wouldn’t do that if I were you. There _are_ more drastic solutions available.’’

‘’Like what?’’

‘’The hose, for one. And if I’m not mistaken, you like to be outside. It would be unfortunate if I were to say, catch you by surprise.’’ He warned.

‘’Bloody hell…’’ The Australian grumbled. ‘’Get on with it, then.’’

Wren smiled. He knew that this was inevitable. He shifted over to one side of the tub, making more than enough room for Mick. ‘’Ah, but there’s the catch… how could I possibly hope to excite you when almost half of my body is hidden behind a _terrible_ acrylic wall?’’ He patted the hard material. ‘’It would be a different story if you were to hop in, would it not?’’

‘’You bastard.’’ Mick muttered under his breath. ‘’Ya planned this from the start, didn’t ya?’’

‘’Not exactly… let’s just say an opportunity presented itself.’’ He couldn’t stifle his grin and it only widened when Mick began to strip down. Though he undressed carelessly, Wren couldn’t help but stare. Warmth trickled through his insides at the sight of Mick’s lean, elegant figure. He often marvelled at how different their bodies were. The contrast was a feast for his eyes when he found himself starved for entertainment. Wren personally sported large pectorals, plump thighs, and a rounded stomach that had unfortunately come with age. Contrarily, Mick bore a flat chest, thin legs, and a sticklike figure. Though it was unconventional, he had fallen fast for the unusual charm that Mick’s unassuming and humble physique held. The thought of appreciating every part of the man he loved was enough to make his cheeks feel warm. He wanted to touch, grab, and stroke everything that was before his eyes to communicate just how much he adored it all.

Mick dumped his clothes on the floor and climbed into the tub with about as much grace as a fawn learning to walk. Even when he sank into the water he looked just as awkward. ‘’Never liked baths.’’ He mumbled. ‘’I may as well jus’ go for a swim down in the creek.’’ He grumbled. ‘’At least then I’ve got somethin’ to do…’’

He moved closer and wrapped his arms around Mick. ‘’Well,’’ He began, letting a smile creep upon his lips. ‘’I’m right here, am I not?’’

‘’Is this your idea of seducin’ me, is it?’’ The bushman chuckled. ‘’I’m not impressed, I’ve gotta say.’’

‘’I can admit that this is not my best performance either, but please bear in mind that you have forced me to improvise…’’ He whispered, leaning in to kiss him before he could demean his efforts any more. ‘’Besides, I don’t have to do much these days. I no longer have a need to slaughter men and women alike to catch your eye.’’

‘’I reckon ya would do bloody brilliantly if ya offed some poor sod for me.’’ Mick prompted, his voice dropping lower, as if he was uttering a secret. ‘’’Cause right now this aint up to par, darlin’.’’

‘’Not up to par!?’’ Wren cried in outrage. He was far better!

‘’I’m only teasin’.’’ Mick kissed him just once. ‘’You’re doin’ jus’ fine, luv’.’’

‘Fine’ wasn’t good enough for Wren. ‘’Hmph, you must learn to flatter me properly. Trust me, my love, it will buy you everything.’’ Mick shot him a sceptical look and he thought to convince him. ‘’For instance, I could say that you’re dirty and disgusting and that you need a bath. However, that would frustrate you because it’s far too harsh for your sensitive ears. You personally enjoy praise and affectionate words.’’ Wren pinched the lobes of Mick’s ears and giggled playfully. ‘’On that note, if I were to say that you’re extraordinarily handsome but that filth on your face is rather unflattering, you may be more inclined to let me clean you because the first part made you feel good.’’

‘’I thought magicians weren’t s’posed to reveal their tricks.’’ Mick said, leaning in to the touch. 

‘’I would hardly call it magic.’’ Wren said, scooping up a handful of water. He poured it over Mick’s head, and he scowled as it trickled down his face. He was just like an unhappy dog being forced to bathe after rolling around in the mud. ‘’People are remarkably easy to sway. All you need is knowledge. It’s as simple as learning a person’s desires and their weaknesses and playing upon them to create favourable outcomes.’’

‘’Ya don’t give people enough credit, luv’. They’re not the bunch of baboons ya think they are. They’re more complicated than that.’’ Mick reasoned. ‘’I know you’re a bit different, and maybe I am too but did ya ever consider that ya think they’re stupid because ya can’t… _understand_ them?’’

‘’What do you mean?’’ Wren was curious. Mick rarely talked like this and it was just fascinating.

‘’I mean that ya can’t put yourself in their place and think about what their life is like, what they feel and what they think. At the end of the day, ya can only understand yourself. ‘Cause of that ya think you’re the smartest bloke on the planet. And yeah, you’re real smart but you can only think about you if ya get what I’m on about.’’ He sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. ‘’My point is people aren’t as stupid as ya think they are.’’

‘’…Perhaps.’’ He had a fair argument. Wren supposed it was something to ponder late at night if he found himself unable to sleep. Such an event was rare, but necessary. Those sleepless moments provided him with more than ample time to think, consider and argue within the space of his head.

For the moment, Wren thought to concentrate on the task at hand. Mick was dirty. Perhaps as dirty as one _could_ be. Besides, his itch to touch and explore his lover all over again had only intensified and he could not wait any longer. He had discovered so much about the Australian’s body in their time together and yet, he wanted to rediscover it and perhaps cover new territory. He hoped to someday be able to visualise the other man’s body by feel alone.

He soaked his lover’s hair and slicked it back. Wren shook his head at how overgrown it was. It had well and truly grown over the collar and Wren would deem it feral. ‘’You are in dire need of a haircut.’’

‘’I’ll be dead b’fore I go back to that barber. He nearly cut my ears off with those fuckin’ clippers.’’ Mick imitated scissors with his fingers.

‘’I could cut it for you instead.’’ He tempted as he ran his fingers through those cinnamon locks. However, I must warn you that I have a history of violence.’’ He teased, smiling to himself. ‘’That said, I don’t believe that I have ever cut someone’s ears off...’’ He couldn’t help but grin at the idea. Wren thought of himself as a competent barber, particularly when things were dire. He liked his hair a particular way and he was of the opinion that if he wanted it to be done right, he had to do it himself. The bushman’s hair was more of a challenge, but he knew it would turn out wonderfully with some work.

‘’Ah, no thanks, darlin’. I kinda like it how it is.’’ Mick reasoned.

‘’Perhaps a trim would be more to your liking?’’ He’d do anything just to tidy it up.

‘’Another time, Wren.’’ Mick grumbled.

‘’Very well.’’ He gave in. ‘’But don’t be surprised if you wake up one morning with a shaved head.’’ He warned, only partially joking. He certainly wouldn’t go to such extreme measures, but if required, he would make a few adjustments. ‘’Now, let’s get you clean…’’

*******

At first Mick was gritting his teeth at the feel of all sorts of products being scrubbed into his scalp but as a cycle formed of scrubbing and washing, he found himself relaxing and even enjoying it. He slumped against Wren and surrounded himself with the feel of his body. Once his hair had been cleansed, the older man began on his hands. The dirt and grime were washed from his fingers and from under his nails, which Wren promised to clip for him at some stage.

‘’I’m so tired of having itchy scars on my back.’’ He had said.

Mick had been far too dazed to even try to respond. He merely listened and accepted everything that came his way. Wren massaged his neck and worked his way to his back, where he rubbed kind, affectionate circles into it until he lost all sense of time and fell into a stupefied haze, like a drowsy koala. His head felt pleasantly dizzy and foggy, as if it were full of steam. Wren’s hands dipped lower and held his hips just for the hell of it. Mick didn’t mind. He quite liked it, actually. He always liked it when Wren held and touched him. It made him feel precious.

He knew Wren was talking to him, but he couldn’t hear a word. All he could hear was the sound of his voice and how it reminded him of a lorikeet chittering and chatting without even realising how beautiful it sounded. Even when Wren’s hands crept to his arse, he didn’t bat an eye. He just enjoyed the sensation of gentle, soft hands on his more delicate and intimate of areas. Wren cuddled up closer to him and their bodies pressed against one another, locking together. Those nimble, shapely hands shifted to his thighs and worked their way to an even more dangerous place. He first felt them brush against his shaft before working to the base and up to the tip. It was the slightest touch, merely the graze of skin on skin. It was exploratory and curious and if he didn’t know any better, he would think that Wren had no intentions of going any further. But those were Wren’s hands on him, and Wren’s hunger for more was embedded in every touch.

‘’I dreamt of you last night.’’ Wren said softly as his fingers followed the trail of dark, curly hair that ran up his stomach. Those words caught his attention and were more than nonsensical white noise.

‘’Knowin’ you, it wasn’t a nice dream, was it?’’ His voice came out groggy as if he’d been asleep just moments ago.

‘’It wasn’t the sort you are thinking of.’’ He clarified. ‘’To keep things brief, it inspired me. I mustn’t tell, but let’s just say that I now have a very special purpose in mind for our guests…’’

Mick felt his heart sink for a reason he couldn’t quite place. ‘’I thought we were gonna kill ‘em jus’ whenever we wanted.’’

‘’We were, but plans change, do they not?’’ He cooed.

‘’I s’pose they do, but I’d rather not have that lot around for too long.’’ He felt as if he was walking right into dangerous territory.

‘’Why not?’’ That was the question he’d been dreading. ‘’They are so much fun to play with!’’ Mick was a sucker for that look. It was one of enthusiasm and an almost innocent joy. The way his smile dimpled, and his eyes lit up made little butterflies flutter in his stomach.

Those butterflies were killed by the striking pang of fear tore through his heart as the words flowed out from his gob. ‘’I… I jus’ think they’re distractin’. I’m not sure how to word it… but I’d much rather spend my day with ya than tippin’ a bloke’s bucket of shit into the garden.’’ He itched at his neck, despite the fact that it wasn’t itchy. ‘’I miss ya, is all I’m tryin’ to say. I know it’s silly but I do.’’

Wren’s hands tensed and his nails dug just slightly into his chest. ‘’I know, Mick…’’ He said softly. ‘’I’m aware that this is likely unpleasant for you but just because my attention is divided at the moment does not mean that I love you any less, okay?’’

‘’You’re not hearin’ me.’’ He muttered. ‘’I jus’ want to spend time with ya.’’

‘’We can’t ignore our guests, Mick.’’ Wren replied.

‘’That’s… not the problem, luv’.’’ He could feel those nails digging into him like claws. ‘’I reckon if we jus’ off ‘em all one arvo’ the problem’ll be solved and—‘’

‘’No, not yet.’’ Wren’s voice lost all of its warmth and turned cold in a heartbeat. Those hands grabbed his chest, as if trying to claw their way to his heart and rip it out while it was still beating. He could feel the conviction in every word. There was no changing Wren’s mind and Mick knew it. His eyes went down to the shallow water below. Though the depth was mostly harmless, it could very well become his watery grave with another wrong set of words. ‘’We will kill them when I say so.’’ Wren spoke firmly, changing his words from a suggestion into a command. ‘’I promise you, Mick, it will be worth the pain, but you have to trust me.’’

Mick bit his tongue and nodded hastily.

Just like that, a switch was flicked, and Wren kissed him on the cheek.

*******

Mick was busy making a cup of tea for himself and Wren when he heard an odd rattling noise from the attic. He paused with cups in hand and listened. It sounded as if someone was attempting to open the door or maybe even rip it off its hinges. As much as Mick loved this house, he couldn’t trust that old door to hold against the strong arms of a desperate prisoner. He placed the cups on the bench and raced up the stairs, drawing his knife on the way. The adrenaline rushed into his every nerve and he sucked in a breath before unlocking the door.

The door swung wide open at the force of the escapee and Grace stumbled out. She paused as if in disbelief. That was her mistake. Mick lunged at her and shoved his knife in her arm. It was a large target because of the flab that dangled down like a wrinkled turkey breast. He twisted the knife before ripping it out. He shoved her for good measure and tumbled over, like a featherlight stack of cards. A part of him hoped she broke some bones. Wren had told him the other night that old shilas like her could bump into a wall and break a bone they were that fragile. He said it had something to do with hormones, but he’d tuned out by that stage.

He grabbed her by the thin, grey hair and dragged back inside as if she was a bratty kid. He made sure her legs would scrape against the ground as he pulled her to her post. He held her down and did his best to ignore the squirming as he inspected the damage on the rope. It looked as if it had been _chewed_ through, despite being thick and coarse. ‘’You’re a stubborn bitch, ya know that?’’ He huffed, looking to the frayed ends of the rope. ‘’Y’know, this is jus’ a light slap on the wrist compared to what Wren’s gonna do to ya when he hears about this.’’

At the mentioning of Wren’s name, she visibly tensed before snarling back with attitude. ‘’Keep it quiet and there won’t be any more trouble from me.’’

‘’I couldn’t hide it from him even if I wanted to, ‘cause it’d be pretty tricky to cover that up!’’ He grabbed her bleeding arm without a shred of hesitance just to laugh. His chuckles died down and he remembered what he sought out to do. ‘’Alright, lets tie ya back up. No more chewin’. Trust me, you’re not gonna get a replacement lot of dentures here!’’ He roared.

‘’I don’t use dentures.’’ She grumbled.

‘’Ya don’t have a sense of humour, do ya?’’ He muttered under his breath as he tied her up. He made sure the restraints were extra tight as a bit of a punishment. ‘’Maybe I should call Wren to lighten up the mood…’’ He warned, revelling in how fear rushed into her eyes. ‘’I mean, hate him all ya want but surely ya can admit that the bloke knows how to have a laugh.’’ It was so interesting to see how scared they were of Wren. In their eyes, Mick was just a little dog standing beside an enormous wolf.

She mumbled indistinctly, redirecting her eyes to the floor.

He shook his head in disapproval and inspected each of their prisoner’s restraints. Surprisingly, all of them were damaged in some way. Suzanna’s were scratched up and frayed at the sides, as if a cat had used them as a scratching post. When he inspected her fingers, he discovered that all her nails were chipped, broken and crooked. Frank’s had a deep indent in them, as if he’d been cutting it with something. A quick search in his pocket revealed a house key Wren hadn’t bothered to take out. It was hardly a key anymore as it had been worn down into a blunt little stub of metal.

‘’Bloody hell… it’s like the lot of ya want him to chop your limbs off.’’ He grumbled.

‘’Don’t tell him, please!’’ Suzanna whined.

Something about her plea burrowed under his skin and wriggled into his brain. It was different to the snarky suggestion he’d gotten just moments ago. It was more convincing, more desperate and demanding. It grabbed his attention and inadvertently created questions he didn’t want to ask. Did he really want to tell Wren? Did he want the bloke to spend his afternoon in here cutting an arm off or ripping teeth out one by one? That time could be better spent with a lovely bushwalk out in the sun or even a snuggle in bed. He snapped out of his selfish haze in a heartbeat as fear pulsed in his head like a cold charge of electricity. Wren wasn’t stupid. He’d find out eventually and he’d be furious because he didn’t tell him about it. He shuddered at the thought of being yelled at or god forbid, pushed away and ignored again.

‘’Sorry, luv’. I can’t do that. Ya know what he’s like…’’ He trailed off.

‘’He’s scared of him!’’ The old crone piped up, laughing as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

Those words cut deeper than any blade. He hated them so much he wanted to rip the shila’s lips off and cut her tongue into a broken, bleeding lump of muscle. But Mick was patient. He didn’t want to cut a girl up unless he had to. Sure, the shila was a rude bitch, but Wren would get way more of a kick out of tearing her cockiness into bloody ribbons. ‘’Pah, keep tellin’ yourself that.’’ He scoffed. ‘’Jus’ remember to keep that big mouth closed ‘round Wren, ya hear?’’ He taunted her on the way out.

**~***~**

Wren had been overjoyed when Mick gave him the news.

And now that he had his tools in his hands, he was simply _ecstatic_. He snapped on a pair of gloves, and grinned at his petrified audience of sinners. They awaited their respective punishments with fearful eyes, and he could almost feel their pulses racing from where he stood. While they were frozen in place, he was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. He scooped up a scalpel, tested its sharpness and began his spiel.

‘’Mick informed me that all of you have been very naughty.’’ He said as he examined each of them individually, pondering what punishment would be suitable. ‘’Naturally, that means that I have to teach you all a lesson…’’ He chuckled to himself as he pondered the seemingly endless possibilities. He could pull nails, pluck teeth, sever fingers, or even perform peel some skin if he felt like it. The only problem with so many choices was that it was difficult to make a decision. They were all so tempting that it hurt him to even think of neglecting one. ‘’Perhaps I should punish you all to make sure that this never happens again.’’ He sighed, thinking aloud. ‘’…Mm, but that’s far too inefficient. I would like to be in bed with my darling at a reasonable hour…’’ He checked his watch. There wasn’t nearly enough time to make them all bleed. Just one would have to be punished for the crimes of the others. ‘’I suppose that means only one of you will be at my mercy today… ah, but the question is who…’’ He lovingly traced the edge of his scalpel and felt the rubber thinning at the unkind touch of the pointed tip.

Looking at the three made it so difficult to choose. They were all so vile that he wanted to hurt them all. A devilish idea came to mind. He would make _them_ choose.

Thankfully, Frank made a start on that process for him and offered an unwelcome suggestion. The tongueless man in question garbled something out and he must have repeated it more than a dozen times before Wren understood him. It was a phrase along the lines of ‘’She escaped’’ accompanied by a pointed index. Wren understood his meaning. Grace was the only successful escape artist and to Frank, that meant that she was more deserving than he was, but in Wren’s mind – the only mind that mattered – their crimes were one and the same, regardless of the end result.

But for the sake of this little game, he pretended to agree with him. ‘’You’re right, my tongueless friend!’’ He piped up, selling the idea with his enthusiasm. ‘’Perhaps she is fit to become my example for the evening.’’ He giggled when Grace’s eyes instinctually darted to the gleaming collection of tools that had been neatly laid out for use. He made a thoughtful noise. ‘’Ah… those teeth of yours proved to be remarkably helpful in your escape, I think that they should go, don’t you?’’

She frantically disagreed with him. ‘’No, no, I—‘’

‘’Would you rather that someone else be punished in your stead?’’ Wren cocked his head like a bird pretending that the idea had just come to him.

‘’Y-Yes! Anyone else!’’ She cried.

Wren waited a moment in the rare chance that someone would volunteer, but as expected, the room fell silent. ‘’Tell me who deserves to be punished.’’ The excitement in the air only grew as the seconds flew by. He wanted to watch these three turn on each other like wild animals. He wanted to see them turn into depraved creatures with bared teeth, flared nostrils, and a fiery temper. This was only the start. The trio looked to one another in a beautiful, shared terror that was as sweet as syrup. Wren would be lying if he said that he didn’t have a sweet tooth. He wanted to drink that fear and swallow it down even if the overwhelming saccharinity made him sick.

‘’Frank.’’ She could only mumble his name.

‘’I’m sorry, what was that?’’ Wren cupped his ear.

‘’Frank!’’ She said it louder this time and Wren grinned from ear to ear. He had been waiting for this. ‘’He… he… deserves to be punished.’’ Her fear had turned to guilt, and it was just as delightful to his ears.

Unfortunately for him, he had no way to defend himself. He could hardly make a sentence that was longer than three words before it became utterly unintelligible.

‘’What should I do to educate him? The possibilities are just about endless…’’ He gestured to the vast array of tools before him as if they were a galaxy full of stars. The woman hesitated and her eyes darted around Frank’s body, as if searching for an expendable limb or feature. She was a shrewish woman, but it seemed that she had a heart underneath all of the bile and venom.

‘’His hands.’’ Was all she could muster.

Wren grinned. ‘’Very well.’’ He smiled to himself, knowing that she would come to regret being so broad with her answer. She had likely meant for him to do some lightwork, like cutting up his flesh or ripping out some nails, but he had far more ambitious plans. He put the scalpel back into place and traced along his particularly lethal selection. Inspiration graced his skin in the form of the cold touch of metal. Upon touching the bulky handle of a cleaver, he knew just what to do. It was heavy in his hand and its weight was a promise of destruction and power. Wren lifted it, examining it and committed the image of his new friend to memory. He kissed the blade, feeling the sensation of cold steel against his lips as he blessed it with the malicious intent that flowed from his every breath like wisps of foul smoke.

‘’Well, you heard the woman, did you not?’’ He sat beside Frank and licked his lips, delighting in how images of blood and utter carnage filled the space behind his eyes.

The man was begging him, shaking his head and making the sounds of a desperate, whining pig.

‘’I’m so _terribly_ sorry but this is just how it’s going to be. You deserve it, after all.’’ He thought to rub it in just a little more with false empathy. ‘’Now, splay your dominant hand out, would you?’’ He saw the tongueless man’s right hand twitch before he mindlessly obeyed. He spread his bulky, sausage-like fingers out wide and they shook in fear. ‘’Good, be sure to keep them still…’’ He mumbled, raising the heavy knife above his smallest finger. He gave the man a final look. His amber eyes were wide and his lips trembled. Satisfied, Wren slammed the blade down and it thumped against the floor after tearing through flesh and bone. Frank screamed and instinctually pulled his hand away. Blood spurted out in streams from where his pinkie finger had once been, and he found himself mesmerised by the pulsing rhythm of blood.

‘’You’re crazy!’’ Suzanna screamed, covering her eyes, and cowering in her corner.

‘’That’s where you’re wrong. I’m merely psychopathic!’’ He licked the blood from the dirtied blade. ‘’There is a significant difference, I’m afraid!’’ He sung the words buoyantly and with a hint of pride. His condition – while technically a malfunction – had proved time and time again to be a benefit rather than a detriment. It brought him pleasure where others were unable to find it and had delivered his soulmate right into his loving arms. In his eyes, he had earned the right to be proud of what he was, even if they despised him for it. ‘’Goodness… look at all of that blood!’’ He laughed at the pressurised rain of life that was rushing out from the stump.

His smile faded. Wren wanted more. This simply wasn’t enough. He grabbed the other man’s wrist and shoved his wounded hand against the ground. He lined up his weapon and raised it. He bit his lip before slicing downward. He cut it with more force this time and he felt the blade bite into the flooring. The thrill was enough to make him chuckle. The gratification from destroying the delicate palace that was a human body was a punishing, yet infinitely pleasurable sensation. He knew that pleasure could consume him and destroy him, but it didn’t stop him. The sharp edge of his blade had severed his plaything’s ring finger and when he scooped it up, his tittering giggle it blossomed into a full, elated cackle. It was progress in a tangible form. He was succeeding. Prospering. _Thriving._

He could hardly hear the screams over his own energised, racing thoughts. He held his toy’s hand absolutely still before aligning the cleaver with his middle finger. ‘’We’re just over halfway there!’’ He laughed, giddy with the high that had smothered his mind. He did it again, but missed just slightly, which left the finger clinging to his hand by a lifeline made of partially sliced bone and a thread of reddened skin. Wren grabbed the stubborn survivor and began to pull. The flesh snapped at his might and gave way. However, the bone was mulish and needed to be tugged and jerked in all sorts of directions before finally tearing in two. He showed his guest the remnants of his finger and revelled in how he paled. This cut was jagged and crooked, but Wren couldn’t care less. It had been so much fun to rip it off. He tossed the severed finger with its kin before moving on to the next as if it were a new toy to play with.

Wren went to cut off his index finger but noticed that his audience was not as eager as they should be. The two women were looking away from the show he had put on for them. ‘’You two are being very rude at the moment.’’ He snapped, scolding them for their inattention. ‘’I have gone to all of this effort to educate you and yet you two choose to insult me by ignoring the show!’’ He cried. ‘’Keep this up and I might just gouge your eyes out.’’ He warned, fully intending those words. ‘’…Where was I?’’ He looked down and his grin widened. ‘’Ah, of course… right THERE!’’ He burst into a frenzied howl as the heavy blade effortlessly ripped through yet another finger. He was left breathless as he forced the tongueless man’s unwilling thumb in place.

‘’No, no, no, no—‘’ Frank was sobbing without cease.

It was almost saddening to see the end of his fun coming on the horizon. ‘’Oh, don’t cry… it’s just one more…’’ He lined the blade up and sucked in a breath. ‘’It won’t hurt one bit, see?!’’ He hacked into his thumb, deliberately making the cut imperfect. This time it only went through halfway and how he _screamed!_

Naturally, Wren finished the job with a final slice. He collected each of his broken and bloodied fingers and showed them to him as if they were each exquisite works of art. The look on his guests’ faces were priceless. He wanted to frame the pale, horrified gape that Frank wore so that he could point and laugh at it for all of eternity. He rose to his feet and displayed his trophies to his audience, who covered their mouths and looked away hastily.

Wren deemed today’s sermon a success.

**~***~**

Mick wasn’t sure how long he’d been outside for. But by the way the sun was setting, it’d been a while.

At first, it’d been just dandy. He’d gone out to check up on his girls and had ended up sitting on the grass with them and enjoying the evening sun. He’d taken in the fresh air with a smile, watched the cockatoos fly overhead and felt the ants scurry over him as if he was just another rock. It had been nice. For what felt like hours, the sounds of the world around swallowed up all of his thoughts and quietened them with a hug and even a kiss or two from nature. But over time his smile had faded, and his thoughts became louder and louder as that comfort wore away. At first, they had been little whispers in his ear, telling him that he was alone again, and that Wren was far too preoccupied with a bunch of hooligans to even consider seeing a bloke he considered his husband. As the sun began its slow descent into the void they grew louder until it was just a voice, talking to him. That voice said that he was sharing his lover with people who didn’t deserve him. It told him that Wren’s petty squabble with that bunch of dickheads was more important than him. It began to yell that those prisoners were stealing his love away and taking Wren from him. They were robbing him blind and—

One of his girls wandered over to him and plopped herself down next to him. She puffed out her brown feathers and closed her eyes, joining him for a power nap. He reached over and patted her head, silently thanking her for accidentally ending the screaming match in his head. Mick sighed in relief. It was all quiet in there again and he took the opportunity to look up at the sky and watch the clouds roll. He closed his eyes and let the sounds of clucking, rustling, and pecking become his new reality. The sun planted kisses on his bare chest, heating his body and turning everything it touched into a snug blanket. Eventually, the heat coaxed him into closing his eyes and relaxing to the point where it felt as if he was sinking into the grass.

That was until he heard the front door open and a familiar whistle following it. He jolted awake at the sound and the chook beside him fluttered to her feet, losing her loyalty to him in a second. Mick sat up to see Wren with outstretched hands, offering the bird a snack of some sort. The bloke was a mess, with splatters of blood decorating his face like freckles. His hair was ruffled, a satisfied smile was lingering on his lips and his gloves were a whole new shade of red. Needless to say, it seemed like the bloke had been busy.

‘’I can’t believe ya remembered their dinner whistle.’’ Mick said, astounded. He thought that Wren hated his chickens.

‘’I thought that it might be a helpful thing to remember.’’ He justified. ‘’Go show Mick what you have, bitte.’’ He encouraged the rooster with a pat on the back.

By dumb luck, the proud rooster marched towards him. As the bird approached, Mick’s eyes widened. In his dark beak was a bloodied, battered finger. ‘’You’ve been busy, I see.’’ He’d been expecting Wren to pull the old hag’s teeth rather than what looked to be a bloke’s fingers. He didn’t mind too much, as long as Wren was happy.

‘’Very much so!’’ Wren sung. ‘’Severing a man’s fingers is hard work.’’

‘’Ya must be tired then. Do ya wanna have a lil’ nap on the grass or somethin’? The ants don’t bite much.‘’

‘’No, no, I’m not at all tired.’’ He dismissed the idea with the energy in his voice and instead, lowered himself onto Mick’s lap. ‘’In fact, I’m tempted to do the other hand!’’ He said excitedly. ‘’But I would much rather spend every ounce of that energy on you… I know that you love it when I spoil you.’’ He leant in and wrapped his hands around Mick’s neck.

‘’It’s awful kind of ya to think of me, then, seein’ as you’re so caught up with that lot at the minute.’’ He didn’t mean to come off so snide. ‘’I was beginnin’ to think you’d be up there way into the night.’’

‘’My, my, someone _definitely_ needs a pampering!’’ Wren giggled. ‘’You have developed quite the attitude.’’ He closed the distance and pecked him on the lips. He reassured, with his voice changing from jovial to fluffy and sweet. ‘’Now, let me take care of you…’’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snottysocks made some gorgeous fanart! Please send these some love! https://www.instagram.com/p/CLR5obtAs6o/ ❤❤❤  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CL0HSpilZhN/ and this too 🥺👉👈 
> 
> Some spice will come soon ;) 
> 
> As a side note, as you've likely noticed, not a lot is happening plot wise and that's intentional so don't think that it's not going anywhere. It is going places. It's just taking its time.


End file.
